


Harbinger of the End

by Wyrd_Sonder



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Abominations (Dragon Age), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anti-Hero, BAMF Lavellan (Dragon Age), Blood Magic, Character Bashing, Civil Rights Movement, Cullen Rutherford Bashing, Dismemberment, Divine Justina Bashing, Eventual Sex, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Grey Warden Secrets, Headcanon, Lesbian Sex, M/M, Or rather the Inquisitor was young, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Revolution, The Blight (Dragon Age), The Inquisitor Is So Done, The Taint (Dragon Age), Time Travel Fix-It, Tranquil Cure, Worldbuilding, Young Inquisitor (Dragon Age), apocalyptic future, blight sickness, lot of freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 31,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28260810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wyrd_Sonder/pseuds/Wyrd_Sonder
Summary: When Fen'Harel removed the Veil, he unknowingly released the Blight's origin into the world, evolving the taint into an apocalyptic infection, mutating and reanimating organic lifeforms into nightmarish corpses.Trapped in a hellish apocalyptic world because she failed to stop Solas, the Inquisitor survives years on her own until finally she is struck with a mortal wound. In her dying hour, Fen'Harel finds her and offers her a deal.Let his spirit in so that they can change the world's fate together, as one entity, and turn back time. The Inquisitor didn't know what would happen to her, but they were both dying either way, and so she accepted and soon found herself in  9:30 Dragon with eighteen years to stop the world from ending.It's a shame that she didn't have the patience to wait for it.
Relationships: Female Hawke/Isabela, Female Inquisitor/Leliana (Dragon Age), Leliana/Female Warden (Dragon Age)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 20





	1. In My Dying Hour

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone, so this first chapter was actually rewritten and published on 01/19/2021 because I found my beautiful, self-esteem saving outline and completely jumpstarted this story in a different direction! So, if you've been here before, I'd suggest rereading this chapter because it's a lot better, and the rest of the story will make more sense since it sets the tone and foreshadowing for future events.
> 
> Warrnings for possible triggers: (if I overlooked something please let me know)
> 
> gruesome transformation that describe death into dead-space/bloodborne inspired corpses. 
> 
> Assisted suicide/mercy killing at the end - starts with "all you have to do is kill... my body" 
> 
> There's blood magic that is used by self inflicted injury
> 
> and both major and minor character death

"Corpses!" 

Druela cursed, spinning around on her heel to look over the barricade at the undead heading their way. Her eyes widened as she took in the flesh haggard bodies, their bone-white skeletons standing out underneath the light of the red sky. 

"Shit, those are Draugr!" She called out, thrusting her hand out as she called forth the roots of the earth. Arrows whistled by her ears as their archer followed her pursuit, fire trailing the arrowhead and exploding on impact, lighting the blighted creatures instantly. Knowing that wouldn't stop them from continuing their charge, she rose the roots from the earth to skewer them through the ribcage, hanging them upwards as what remained of their entrails spilled out. 

She let out a relieved breath as all the Draugr were taken care of, not wanting to test their luck in a close-quartered fight. 

She looked over her shoulder, meeting the eyes of her companions, and smiled in assurance. "We're good. Now let's finish getting the supplies and get out. We don't want to be here when it gets dark." She sheathed her sword, trusting her flank to Eliza, having long adapted to her missing arm, and went back inside the abandoned shop. 

"What's our luck today, Nicolo?" She asked the former Crow, picking up their traveling pack as she approached him by the fabrics aisle. "Better than last week, my lovely Inquisitor." She sighed at the title and accepted that even disbanded; some people never lost their faith in what she stood for, especially when it's the bloody apocalypse. 

"Last week was the start of winter, my friend; we were fortunate to survive the last few days without food." He sighed exasperatingly at her words, picking up linen of sheep's wool. "Well, unless you want to cook your leather boots into a soup, we'll only be warm this week." Her lips twisted at the reminder of what he sacrificed early in the week, and she wondered how long it would take to get the taste of dirty boots out of her mouth. "Fuck off," she muttered, ignoring his chuckle of mirth to toss the wool into their bag. 

"Days like this make me miss the warm sands of Antiva," Nicolo whispered as though he were telling her a grand secret. His eyes twinkled in the light of the torch, "it was always a place of-"

"We got company inbound!" 

They straightened at once. The laughter was extinguishing from Nicolo's eyes as they got serious. Druela gave him a nod and let him step out first, knowing she would struggle to defend her left side if they got jumped walking out the door. The Crow breezed out the door, his daggers ringing metal as he pulled them out of their sheaths, pack tossed over one shoulder in case they needed to make a run out of there.

After a count to three, she followed him out and immediately looked over to her friend. "What do you see, Thom?" He looked grim under all the dust and smoke covering his face. 

"You're not going to like it, boss," he uttered gruffly but pointed over to the north. She went to stand beside him and peered over their barricade. "Why in the void is _that_ out here?" 

It was a berserker, the corpse mutation of a qunari after the infection kills them. They were far worse than their darkspawn counterpart with how the Taint transformed their body into bigger and more lethal versions of themselves. The spider-like appendages sprouting from their backs, for instance, had insane reach and could grab any one of them if it got within twenty feet. 

"Could have been separated from the hoard," Eliza offered, checking behind them for any other stranglers headed their way. Druela wasn't feeling confident in her answer, her instincts screaming at her that something was off about this. 

"Rainer, cover Eliza and watch out backs; Nicolo and I are going to try and lure it away." She looked to the Antivan for support, and when he nodded in accord, she clasped his forearm and gave it a firm shake. It was their way of saying goodbye, in case one of them didn't make it back from this.

Without another word, she moved forward, keeping her knees bent as she crouched low, and carefully maneuvered around the barricade, her eye glancing back only briefly as Nicolo moved to her left to cover her. Her heart hammered in her chest as she sneaked through the town, her eyes narrowed on the approaching Berserker as her ears kept watch on any other noise where corpses may lurk. She could only hope they cleared them all out on their way into the town. 

Berserkers were a pain to fight even with a dozen men. Using fire was their usual resort to dealing with corpses, the way they all but incinerated their flesh and burned away the Taint tended to stop what was controlling them. Unfortunately, some corpses had developed a resistance to it. The Berserker had hardened flesh that burned slowly, and when they lunged, the speed in which they moved almost always extinguished the fire. 

The idea here was to avoid fighting it all-together. Loud noises could lure Berserkers, and if they could bring it to the outskirts of the town, they could move it into an oil trap, light it on fire, and run through the buildings to regroup with the others. 

She hoped this buys them some time. 

Keeping the Berserker in view while moving to the edge of town was difficult. She worried that the second she took her eye off it, it would vanish, and she'd be responsible for whomever it went after instead. She tried to keep her mind off everything that could go wrong and pointed out the land's declination where the trap could be set to Nicolo. It was low enough that the fire would burn high, and the Berserker would need a bit of time to get itself out of it. 

"Give me three minutes, love," Nicolo said as he unbuckled his belt harness, holding his collection of grenades, tools, and oil. Druela gave him a nod and pulled herself up to the roof of a nearby building, pursuing their target as it looked to be heading toward the rest of the group. She swallowed, steadying her hand as heat blistered above her, manifesting orange flames into a condensed fireball. The moment it was solid, she pulled her arm back and threw it at the ground. Ducking behind her cover, she covered her ears just in time to hear the muffled explosion. 

Peering over the railing of her cover confirmed that she had successfully gained its attention. Keeping her breath quiet, she crawled back the way she came to put more distance between them. Heart hammering, Druela conjured another fireball and threw it over the railing without looking back. The Berserker roared, its footsteps like war drums in her ears as it charged forward, still unaware of her presence.

Almost there. 

This time, she manifested a clear liquid in the air, the grease shining with promised intent as she threw it over the side where she thought the Berserker was. By its bellowing shout, she took that as a hopeful sign it hit and jumped down the last wall, rolling to quietly brace her fall. 

Barely making a noise, Druela flattened herself against the wall, waiting with bated breath until the Berserker walked forward. She could barely keep herself still, knowing that if it glanced her way, it was all over. A projectile flew ahead of her, landing noisily on the ground right where the trap was meant to be. Predictably, the corpse went to investigate. Metal rang loudly as a claw unexpectedly clamped on its feet, holding it in place as sparks flew in reaction to the clamp and set the whole thing on fire, white-hot flames crawling up its bulky form and causing it to release a shrill cry.

Taking that as a sign to get out of there, Druela sprinted back to the rest of the barricade. A scream pierced through the air, and she threw herself behind some cover, peeking out over it to confirm her worst fear. _"Felasil!"_ She cursed herself, knowing something was off about the whole thing. A crow's call alerted her of Nicolo's location, and she looked to the west to find the assassin perched on the roof out of sight. He made a circular gesture, and she clenched her jaw tightly at the revelation. 

It was a fucking Hoard. 

Going there was practically a death sentence, but Druela refused to leave anyone that could still be alive behind. Nicolo pulled out his bow and tapped pointedly on it, and she nodded in consent to his plan. Nicolo could do a lot of damage if he attacked from above and would keep any stragglers off her as she made her way through the Hoard. She was the group's firepower, and even if that meant putting herself at the most risk of contracting the infection, it was worth it if she could rescue her people. 

Druela sighed as she pulled out a clean knife, knowing that she didn't have enough power to go on a full-frontal assault with her mana reserves as it was. Lifting up the heavy fabric of her clothes, she exposed her side and pressed the tip of her blade into her hip, and carved a deep cut into it to her abdomen. Blood immediately began to gush from the wound, sticking to her skin and the seam of her pants uncomfortably. Taking a deep breath, she began to pull the power of her life-blood from her blood, taking in the energy like there was a second reserve of mana for her magic now.

Unsettling aware of the injury as she pulled her clothing back over it, she determinedly made it worth the sacrifice as she covered her body in the hardened plates of ice, weighing nothing as it provided her the protection equal to wearing heavy armor. Breathing deeply to steady her heartbeat, knowing she needed every ounce of her focus for her next move, she moved out from her hiding place and steadily walked toward the massive Hoard in front of her. 

The good news is that Hoards were always made of ghouls, the weakest of the corpses in her opinion, as they were clumsy and had the least mobility. They weren't particularly quick on their feet and didn't have the versatile mutations that manipulated the skeleton into weapons as Draugr did. However, what made them so dangerous was that they were overwhelming in large groups and man-eaters, biting for any piece of flesh they could get their hands on. All it took was one bite or one scratch with corpses, and you were infected by the Taint. 

Using Blood Magic was dangerous because while demon possession was no longer a concern with the veil gone, if she killed a corpse in close-quarters and its blood got in the wound - it was all over for her. Therefore, she just had to keep them off of her. Conjuring a vortex of gravitational energy, she shot it into the space meters above the Hoard and watched the magic work, dragging the ghouls up into the orb. It could've been funny, the way the corpses seemed to float well above the ground. Her amusement was dry today with the lives of her companions at risk, and she cast another vortex into the sky, pulling another dozen ghouls into the air as she made her way through them.

A rain of arrows suddenly flew over, piercing through the heads of the ghouls before they could even think to approach her. She smiled and surfed through the waves of magic a meter ahead, feeling the frost of her magic blur around her and freeze the ghouls nearest to her. The rest, she channeled a blast of cold through her sword arm, freezing half a dozen more solid. Without a moment's hesitation, she spun around, her sword cutting through their brittle bodies and shattering them into pieces. 

"Rainer? Eliza!" She called out, calling more roots from beneath the earth to skewer and bury the corpses. She had taken maybe four dozen ghouls down, and she wasn't even halfway through the Hoard. Another rain of arrows cut through the next line of ghouls, but this time not all of them pierced the skulls. Thrusting her sword arm, she used the force of telekinetic energy to thrown the line back, knocking several of the ghouls behind them over in the process. Lifting her sword up to open the wound in her torso further, she wrapped them all in a prison of telekinetic energy, shrinking with each second and crushing them inside. Using the ice's magical currents, she stepped through the corpses to avoid the resulting blood splatter and found herself at the barricade. 

Only there a hundred corpses between it and her. Already she was pushing herself with the blood magic, her injury pulsing beneath her shirt and her heart beating so fast she was beginning to feel her anxiety rise. The ghouls were drooling at her, their hunchback forms showing various wounds where their flesh was peeled back, and their bones were visible through patches of missing skin. She wanted to burn these fuckers into oblivion, bury their bodies in an earthquake, but she couldn't risk pulling an ally into it as well. This close to the barricade, she had to watch her spellcasting.

Looks like it was time to get close and personal. Replacing her ice armor with rock armor drained the rest of her mana; Druela felt the pressure lift from relying less on the power of her blood. The plates of heavy rock around her head obscured her range of sight but made up for the loss since the ghouls couldn't reach any part of her body now. Hissing a breath as she pulled more blood from her wound, she shook off the pain as she lit her sword on fire. 

The corpses were within reach of her now. Swiftly, she created a ring of gravitational energy around her with a final gesture of her sword. Immediately, the nearest ghoul was caught in a state of slow-motion, it's every movement exaggerated, allowing her to easily cut through it, flesh and blood catching fire as she yanked her sword away. 

"Rainer! Eliza, do you hear me!" She shouted again, blazing through the ghouls before they could flank her, flesh and blood splattering against her armor with every swing. Another lunge of her sword and the roots of the earth swallowed them before they could enter her ring. "Damnit, be alive!" She bellowed, grabbing the attention of several corpses well ahead. 

Druela let herself fall into the routine of slow, cut, freeze and bury onto her enemies. Her focus now entirely on the battle, ignoring nausea from casting magic with blood for so long. And then she saw it: a small group huddled around a body, dismissing her as they gorged on flesh with a mighty crunch of bone. They were frozen solid in the next moment, her eyes on the body even as her sword shattered the corpses in an absent-minded swing. 

Eyes blew wide in her final moment of life; the familiar blue had already greyed in the time it took to reach the woman. She crouched by her friend, her hand hesitating before it could touch her face, knowing she couldn't help her like this. " _Fuck!_ Eliza," she sobbed, pulling her hand away as she took in the approaching Hoard. Soon the hole she had put in their forces would be filled. They wouldn't stop coming. 

Her nose stung as blood began to pour from it, her limits for using her life-force being pushed. She couldn't stop, though, not until she found Thom. Giving her last respect to Eliza, she set her body on fire, burning the Taint along with her body to prevent her resurrection as one of them. 

To buy herself time, she shot another vortex to redirect gravity into the sky before heading into the shop, hoping beyond hope that Rainer was in there, somehow still alive. The body was the first thing she saw, the shadows of it visible by the torch they had left in the room. She grabbed it before approaching it, needing to know if he had been hurt, and upon reaching him, he looked out of place. No intestines were falling out of his stomach, no limbs torn from his body, and his eyes weren't open and haunted with the sight of death. She freed her hand from her rock armor to feel his pulse and discovered his heart beating steadily. Double-checking his form, she found no scrapes or entry wounds. It was odd. Even if he was somehow knocked out, the corpses would've finished him, not passed over him. 

Perhaps Eliza sacrificed himself for him? Knocked him out to prevent him from going to his death with her? It was impossible to know unless he was conscious. She shook him hard, calling his name and ignoring her anxiety as the first sounds of corpses began to be pulled into the sky. When his head simply rolled, and he showed no signs of waking, she took a deep breath and exhaled an icy breath on him, backing up as he jolted awake, eyes widening as he took in where he was. "Thom?" She asked cautiously, analyzing him for any sign of the infection. He was on his feet in a hair's breadth, his hand grasping empty air where his sword should be, and as he looked to her with concern, she felt her tension ease at the familiar look. "Boss! Eliza, she-"

Druela shook her head before he could ask. He slumped, pinching the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh. "I should've been there." The guttural cries of the ghouls interrupted him before he could say anything more, and without pausing, she passed him her sword and clapped him on the shoulder comfortingly. "I'm sorry, Thom, but I'm glad you're alright." 

Stepping toward the doorway, she looked at the Hoard cutting off their exit. "We need to find Nicolo and get out of here," she told him just as a familiar shrill cut through the air, paralyzing them in place. "Today is not our day," she tried to joke, find light in the situation that was becoming grimmer by the second. She frowned, taking in the windowless room. "Thom, you think this building will hold?" She didn't have to clarify what she meant; being surrounded by a Hoard and a Berserker meant staying in a defendable location might just save their lives. 

"It can probably withhold an assault, so long as the structural integrity isn't compromised." That meant don't make an earthquake. She nodded, showing she understood. Druela scrapped out using fire as well - if one of them got inside the barricade, they could send the whole thing up into flames. Sensing that her gravitational spell was about to collapse, she quickly drew a repulsion glyph into the dirt and channeled her magic in it, activating it.

"I'll be back," she said before leaping over the doorway and unleashed a blizzard in the streets, solidifying the ghouls and slowing the Berserker's speed. It had her in its sight immediately for it, but she refused to give it an advantage, scaling up the wall of a nearby shop to travel by roof. It shrieked at her, shaking off the frost, and launched its appendages at her like a whip. She ducked just in time for them to fly overhead and swing back to its owner. 

Druela sprinted to the edge, leaping off of it before it could try again, and rolled as she hit the roof of another building. The sound of glass shattering nearby had her looking back to see lightning blasting into the Berserker's feet, turning its attention to Nicolo, who appeared out of nowhere with blood painting half his face. The Berserker raised its arm to slam him, but Nicolo was three steps ahead of it, grappling hooks into its flesh as he flew toward it, using the momentum of its swing to carry him unto its back. In a blur of daggers, he cut off its appendages before its fist had even hit the ground. As the ground crumbled beneath its strength, the Berserker tried to buck the Crow off its back to no avail. 

Seeing that Nicolo had the Berserker handled, Druela focused on taking care of the remaining ghouls, throwing blizzards out until it was practically Wintermarch here. She didn't stop her relentless assault until her ears were ringing, throwing her balance off to the point that she nearly fell from the roof. Shuddering for breath, she collapsed against the railing with the sound of Nicolo fighting below. Lifting up her shirt to check her self-inflicted injury, she hissed at the look of it, knowing instantly it would scar and that stopping the bleeding would hurt like a bitch. 

A cry cut through her inspection, and she stood up just in time to see Nicolo sacrifice his grip on the Berserker's back to stab his sole remaining dagger through its skull. Druela had her hand reaching out before she thought about what she was doing, purely driven by instinct as she caught her friend in a force field before he could hit the ground.

The Berserker didn't even notice her as she climbed down from the building, and she barely paid attention to it, purely focused on fueling the barrier's strength with her blood. She ignored the signs that she was pushing too hard even when black spots dotted her vision. When the Berserker began to pound its fists into her spell, she felt it like it was hitting her instead. Stumbling down onto her knees as she lost the strength to hold herself up. Arms were suddenly around her, pulling her to her feet, as she was too busy putting all her energy into keeping the spell up - in keeping Nicolo alive. 

"Druela, you need to stop the spell," Thom told her sternly like she didn't know stopping the spell would forfeit Nicolo's life. She ignored him, licking her lips even as she tasted the copper. Druela didn't care what it cost her; she wouldn't sacrifice Nicolo's life for her own! But suddenly, her shirt was pulled away from her wound, and she cried out, trying to wriggle out of Rainer's hold as she felt him press linen into it. "Don't," she pleaded, feeling him take that choice from her. "I'm sorry, Druela. I'm sorry," she heard him whisper as she lost her connection to her spell and was forced to watch her force field vanish just in time for the Berserker's next attack.

As she heard Nicolo's bones break, she screamed, drawing from the magic in the air to incinerate the foul creature responsible for his death. A firestorm unleashed itself in the town in a blaze that burned so hot with her rage, it was as blue as the sky was meant to be. The Berserker was incinerated first as the target of her anger, but when her wrath only grew, the fire went on a warpath, lighting every corpse and building on fire with reckless abandon. It was so beautiful and so destructive that she barely even noticed she was being dragged away, her eyes solely focused on the burning town until she lost her sight entirely, the world turning black. 

* * *

Druela Lavellan was seventeen when people first thought the world was ending. Back then, they looked at her and how she survived an explosion that killed thousands and saw her as a hero sent from the Heavens. That her survival could only be proof of Divine intervention, and so they named her Herald of Andraste and made her the leader of an organization solely trusted with saving the world. No one took it seriously back then, not even her, who was too bitter about being conscripted into an Andrastian culture and forced to be a figurehead without considering her thoughts on the matter. To be objectified to gain the nations' support, pool their resources together to deem what they thought a threat to their world when the real enemy had been right in front of them the entire time.

No one knows their real enemy until it's revealed to be the ones closest to them. Druela thought she knew hate; she had been walking the edge of life and death as a Dalish elf, and a mage on top of that, since birth. People may have given her authority and power as Inquisitor, but it was nothing they hadn't forced upon her for pretending to be something she wasn't. Even when her Clan was massacred by the Inquisition's own allies, she didn't know real hate - real betrayal - until she learned who Solas really was and what he was responsible for. 

That kind of betrayal keeps her up at night, haunting her every moment and questioning her every action - wondering how much he influenced her decisions. The loss of her left arm will never let her forget it and her blood boils as she considers the years she spent hunting for Solas, tracking down any sign of where he had been and what he was planning. There are times she wonders if he had planned for this all along. If her decision to disband the Inquisition and go looking for him had been predicted, and that's why she hadn't ever found him, even after he unleashed this ruin unto the world. 

As horribly jaded and fucked up Thedas had been, it had still been her home, and she would've always fought to defend it. Thedas is where the sky was blue, and the forests were green, where the cities were suffocating and smelling, but the people in them were complicated and layered. It's where children were taken off the streets and raised as assassins but found love in the sheets and riches to afford the luxury expected only of nobility. It's where people could make bad decisions early in life but redeem themselves later when they were needed most. It's where a Dalish elf could become an Andrastian figurehead and be treated like her decisions meant something, even when the world realized she wasn't anyone special. 

That world no longer exists because one ancient elf saw the elves' place in society and decided genocide was better than living with how far they had fallen after a millennium of absence. Solas had been blinded by his pride in the Elvhenan. He did not appreciate how the elves had survived all their hardships, how the vallaslin had been their pride in what made them different - he only saw what they were meant to be, which made them worthless in his eyes when they weren't. 

That was ignoring how his actions were responsible for their fall in the first place. He couldn't see that trying to control their lives was the problem and instead decided he would right his wrongs like he wasn't meddling with people's lives. It disgusts her to know she once considered someone like that a close friend. 

She grimaced as she pulled on the wound on her side, burning with pain now that it had been cauterized, courtesy of Thom while she had been unconscious. To think now, it wasn't just the elves suffering for the trickery of Fen'Harel but the whole world too. The land was almost entirely blackened by the Blight, sickness was everywhere, and the Taint didn't discriminate when it reanimated and mutated bodies.

Her ears twitched up at the sound of a whimpering keen, and she rolled her head back to see a wolf trotting toward her—an actual living, breathing, untainted wolf. It was rare to see animals these days, most had been killed the first year the veil was taken down, and the world turned apocalyptic. That made this suspicious more than a happy miracle. Fortunately, she had an affinity for animals, raised in the Dalish as the Keeper's Second, and had familiarized herself extensively with Nature and all its inhabitants. Right now, it was in a submissive position, seeing her as the dominant being in this territory. She kept her body relaxed, ignoring the fact that her injury kept her in this position, and kept eye-contact with the wolf as it got within a foot of her. That's when she noticed the harness on its back, a bizarre thing since the wolf could've torn it off with its teeth at any time. Then she saw what was attached to the harness and felt nauseous at who this was probably from. 

Who would send a wolf as a messenger to her? Slowly, she took the scroll from the harness while keeping her movements exaggerated. When she pulled back with the scroll in her hand, the wolf turned around and trotted back in the direction it had come. A cold sweat gave her the chills from this development, and she took a moment to just stare at the scroll in anxiety. Druela Lavellan didn't get letters, not since she made herself scarce four years ago and cut off all contact. She was afraid of who this was from and what they wanted from her, but she couldn't ignore it either. So with a careful breath, she unrolled the parchment and stared at the letter written in fine calligraphy she recognized instantly. 

"Thom," she snapped forcefully, waking her sleeping companion as she clenched the letter tightly in white-knuckled fingers. Rainer was up in seconds and on his feet in less, one hand on the pommel of his sword as she scanned the clearing. When he realized it was clear, he turned questioning eyes on her before zeroing on the letter. 

"What's happened?" He asked her, moving to sit beside her on the log. Druela sighed, pressing her hand against her eye as it began to itch, and passed the letter over to him. "I can't read this," he said after a short pause, and she barked out a short laugh in realization. It was written in elvish. "Sorry. It's from Solas," she muttered quietly, as though saying his name out loud would summon him. Rainer stiffened noticeably and let the letter fall silently to the ground. "What does it say?" He all but growled, harboring a portion of her rage for what Solas was responsible for. Because where Thom Rainer had lied and used her before, she understood his reasons, even if she didn't forgive or like what he had done. He had already been judged by the Grey Wardens, and meeting him years after he had been rejected by them was refreshing, knowing he couldn't fault her for the choices she made when it likely saved his life.

The Grey Wardens, after all, had the Taint trapped in their bodies. And like anything alive with the Taint in this nightmarish world, it had a death sentence. However, the difference between the Grey Wardens and most corpses was that they were still who they were, and their health wouldn't deteriorate like everyone else who contracted the infection. Instead, they were _Sleepers_ who, at any moment, could be possessed by the Archdemon controlling the corpses, cutting their life short, and killing anyone nearby. Druela had never seen it happen as most Grey Wardens had killed themselves or each other when they realized their fate. What became of them was only known through rumors. She smiled a little when Rainer gave her an impatient look and diligently replied. 

"Basically, he asked if I would meet him between the Hitherlands and the Bannorn where the Imperial Highway meets." 

Rainer raised an eyebrow and sputtered, "Lothering? There's nothing there!" 

Druela shrugged, not understanding it herself. "It's not too far from here, so we should be able to avoid the corpses easily enough," she said like they were going anyways. She hadn't made up her mind yet, but she had been searching for Solas for six years - how could she resist such an invitation? 

Thom grumbled under his breath, glaring at the parchment paper like it would catch fire if he looked at it hard enough. Now, if she did, it probably would. "I don't like it. It feels like a trap."

Druela pressed her forefinger to her lip as she considered the thought. Then dismissed it. "I don't buy it. Why would he evade me for six years and then suddenly want to talk to me? And not even through a letter, which he's clearly capable of," a fact which irked her. 

Thom sighed deeply, looking like he aged a decade throughout this conversation. She couldn't blame him, but who knew how much time she had left alive? How long before it was her that was dying for someone else like Zabini and Eliza had? She had survived all sorts of corpses, battles, and injuries, but it wouldn't last. Any moment she could make a mistake, overswing her reach and stumble from the lack of balance, or forget to defend her left side. Any day could be her last day.

"Okay, when does he want to meet you?" Her head snapped up at his acquiescence, surprised by it. He chuckled dryly at whatever expression she had and clapped her shoulder, "you had this look like nothing would stop you, and I learned years ago to realize when I had lost an argument with you." She laughed with him, remembering the days he tried to talk sense into her when she was still a teenager, digging her heels in at every decision she made. It's true what she's doing is probably against all reason, but really, what more does she have to lose? 

"In two days," she answered, considering the routes they could take that would keep them out of sight. If they traveled through the deadlands, they had a lower chance of coming across the undead but had to prepare beforehand since there would be no food or water available to them.

Thom pushed to his feet as she voiced her plan out loud, staring into the dirt as she considered their current resources. "Here," her friend held a cup of steaming liquid out to her, and as she took it in her hands, she felt the tightness in her chest loosen as the calming scent of jasmine filled her lungs. "Thank you," Druela whispered, taking the gift with care and sipping at it to confirm it tastes as good as it smells. She appreciates the gesture, knowing Thom wasn't fond of it himself.

"We lost the supplies we gathered from Denerim," she said quietly, breaching the forbidden topic now that it was unavoidable. Rainer nodded, taking a drink at that exact moment. She heaved a deep breath and relented, "you were right to pull me away." Because keeping how they felt from each other never went well when they were also trusting their lives to one another.

Dark eyes met her's in quiet intensity, and she knew he meant what he said before; he _is_ sorry. She ignored the taste of salt in her drink as tears wet her cheeks, and she croaked, "I'm so tired of watching people die." Thom propped his shield up between them as he quietly told her, "Nicolo knew what he was doing the moment he lost his grip on the Berserker, Dru." The endearment softened the blow of the hard truth. Druela put down the tea to curl up into herself, feeling like there was no time between them, and let herself fall apart like she was a kid again - bawling into her hands. 

She knew as much, deep down. Nicolo could've abandoned his attack on the Berserker to grapple to the ground when he lost his first dagger; instead, he sacrificed his life to cripple it and buy them some time to get away. Everyone in their group knew what using blood magic cost her, and Nicolo probably knew she was pushing her limits at the time, even before she tried to save him.

It would never be comfortable, knowing that her life was valued more than their own, between the fact that she was a powerhouse and a hero to them, no matter her feelings about herself. Druela took a deep breath, focusing her mind back on the subject. "It's fortunate that we mostly collected tools and clothes - not food - then." She said, referring to what they scavenged. Rainer let her redirect the conversation, hooking his foot around their sole remaining bag, and pulled it over. They were probably short on healing ailments now, too. She looked inside it, and yes, they used the last of their bandages on her. As a blood mage, she could really be an inconvenience when it comes to maintaining a steady source of healing supplies - they weren't exactly easy to obtain anymore. She sighed, self-depreciatingly.

"Hey, girl, none of that," Thom hushed her internal thoughts, forcing the tea back into her hands to turn her focus onto something else. She quirked an eyebrow at him, wondering how he always seemed to know when her thoughts spiraled. "Now, I know where some caches were stashed around this area - we could see if they're still there." Druela nodded. It was worth checking even if the caches were years old. "I'll keep a lookout for things we can eat," she said, rolling her eyes abruptly when Rainer gave her a disapproving look. Blood magic was useful for two reasons; the first was obvious - so she could cast more spells more frequently with the second source of power. The second reason was the most practical since she could use it to sense the blood in other life-forms. In particular, if a food or water source has been tainted. It would only take a small amount of blood to sense, too, so it wasn't like she would be pulling at her wound. Rainer huffed, but she appreciated his concern. 

"Okay, so at daylight, we'll do all that and then travel through the deadlands the rest of the way," she looked at him to confirm. When he nodded, she quickly downed the rest of the tea and laid back on the ground. "Take my shift?" She mumbled sleepily, knowing she'll need every hour to be able to travel tomorrow. "Aye, kid," Thom grumbled, and she smirked at his attitude since he would've offered at some point like he always did. 

She sighed gratefully. There was nothing like a friend having her back. 

* * *

"Do you remember that time you got stuck in a phoenix's nest?" 

Rainier grunted, offering no retort to this particular story. Druela laughed at him, then snorted when a particular pained expression followed her reaction, both of them knowing full well she would never let him live this down. "The Veil had just been taken down; everything was acting strangely then," Thom rebuffed weakly. The elf grinned, "there's strange, and then there's things you only see once in your lifetime, Rainer, and being involved with a phoenix and their mating ritual is one of them!"

He groaned, blocking her view of him by raising his shield up, ignorant to how it only made her laugh harder. That morning when he was gathering supplies from the caches, Druela was 'watching' their things, and she may have had a little fun during the wait. How he hadn't noticed it already - she would tease him for that! Right where the heraldry would be on his shield, she had chalked a creative response to their enemies. 

On second thought, maybe she was a little too obvious because they've been traveling together for two years, and he had learned that her mischievousness only got worse, and being on her own for years gave her plenty of points for creativity. Immediately he was setting his shield down and checking his armor for any writing, anything she had done to it when he wasn't looking, and using his long arms to make sure she hadn't stuck anything onto his back. He grumbled when he found nothing and reached down to his shield when he stopped and stared at his shield. She bit her lip at the sight of the smile upturning his lips. He was almost always frowning, so she relished in winning one from him. 

" _If you're reading this, you've died, and I'm about to kill you again._ Really, Dru?" He groaned, brushing his fingers against the white chalk of his shield to find it was bone-dry and not rubbing off. Druela held her jaw to keep herself from laughing, choosing to whine at him instead, "what? It's funny!" He shook his head and sighed, but she could tell it was a win. He wasn't yelling, after all.

"It's redundant; corpses can't read." He deadpanned. Druela shrugged. "Maybe the Archdemon will see it?" Rainer grimaced. Druela mimicked him. "Ugh, you're such a child," he lamented his fate by being stuck with her, she was sure. But it also timed perfectly with her next statement. "Tell me, would you rather be stuck with me or at home with the phoenix?" She teased. "I'm seriously considering the phoenix right now," he growled, stomping away from her and her laughter. 

She settled into a smile after a while, watching as the man she trusted with her life took point with inquisitive eyes. This was her second winter spent with Rainer, and she couldn't help but reminiscence on all they've endured together since she found him in the Western Approach with the phoenix. Druela never thought she would see a familiar face again, not when she left and especially not when the world ended. But there Thom Rainer was, watching a phoenix dance elegantly at him with wide-eyes on the edge of a cliff where the nest was placed. She had scarcely recognized him; he was all skin and bones, losing all the heavy muscle and bulk as a warrior as he was left on his own. 

Druela didn't know what he saw in her at the time, but she half expected him to ghost her as she lured the phoenix away from its territory so he could get out of there. Instead, he showed up at her camp at nightfall with cactus juice, and they talked well into the night, acting like fools from whatever was in that juice. Then, Rainer was traveling with her. There were times she wondered if she said anything during that hallucinogenic cactus juice that made him what to stay or if he missed traveling with someone as much as she did. 

Either way, she was glad he decided to stay. 

Hours later, when they were making camp to catch up on some sleep, Druela couldn't stop her hands from trembling. They were half a day's travel from what was left of Lothering, and in that time, she would see Solas. The man her people once heralded a god; the man who took her arm to take back what was his. She stared at the space where her arm had once been, now absent apart from her shoulder. He may have only taken her forearm with his own hands, but he unleashed the infection that had taken the rest of it too. 

Some would say Druela was lucky to be alive; fortunate that she lost the rest of her arm rather than her life, but all she could think of when she saw it was how many had died when she had lived. It was Eliza who pressed her entire body down on her to hold her still, Nicolo who cut through muscle and bone with a white-hot blade, and Rainer who somehow kept her awake for the entire event so she could use her magic to stop herself from bleeding out. 

Solas was a ghost who would always haunt her. He took so much from her that she was hardly able to recognize herself these days. If not for Thom, she probably would have stopped fighting a long time ago. If she lost him for meeting with Solas now, she didn't know what she would do or how much longer she was willing to go. Hate stopped keeping her alive long ago. 

"This is a nice sword," Thom said out of nowhere, unsheathing the weapon she had carried with her all her life. Druela smiled slightly, knowing full well what he was doing, but relaxed as she watched her friend take in the elves' craftsmanship. It was no _Evanura_ , but it was something she found in the ruins of her ancestors - something that called to her the moment she first held it in her hands.

"His name is _Sule'vi'in;_ it means - inevitability." She whispered, eyeing the obsidian blade embedded with amethyst crystals. Rainer's touch seemed to lighten it's grazing as he caught her sentiment, and after a moment, he gave her an intense look. "Do you want 'er back?" Druela shook her head. "Your need called to her; she's yours now." It was a Dalish sentiment, taking up the arms that calls to you the most in the heat of combat, and for as long as she's had this blade, it has long since been time it changed hands. Thom stared at her a moment longer as if confirming her sincerity, for, after a moment, he nodded and sheathed the blade. 

"He will keep me safe," he said in a way that meant more between the lines. She swallowed, feeling her lungs tighten with her next breath.

She felt anxiety swell in her chest like it was a physical weight and was sure she was drowning in the fear Fen'Harel inspired in his enemies. "I want to kill him," she whispered. A need fueled not by hatred but by despair. "I want to take his heart as he has taken all I ever loved - _and crush it!"_

Thom looked at her with gentle eyes and a kind soul born only when evil has been committed. Taken from seeing the state of his own heart and realizing he can be more than what he was. It was the look of someone who sought redemption and earned it, who atoned by spilling his own blood and crying an ocean of tears in anguish. It was a change in character Druela feared had taken a horrible turn in herself, for every breath she took was against her own nature. If she could have sacrificed herself to prevent Solas from ever taking his power back from her, she would've done so in a heartbeat. She would've done anything to spare the world from this.

"I want what cannot be; I want the world back and all its people. I want the civil war and the discrimination and the injustice back if only to find a way to bring peace in a way that didn't _destroy_ the world!" She cried in anger, throwing her hand into the air in a violent gesture. "I want a second chance to do things right, Thom! I want another chance at life to fix my mistakes," she cried. Thom was at her side by her next breath, just barely wheezing out of her lungs as she gasped. His hands were warm as he steadied her shoulders and eyes firm as he looked into her's spiraling into despair. 

"Let me tell you one thing I never want you to forget, Druela," he whispered with his very soul. "When I say the world is lost, it's not because you weren't there or because you couldn't change things - it has nothing to do with you. I've seen the best and the worst of this world, I've seen things you couldn't imagine and done things I prefer you didn't, and I understand with perfect clarity exactly where you stand in the face of it." He took a deep breath, kneeling as he was in front of her like a knight swearing fealty to his queen.

"I've seen your kindness, and you're strength, your hatred, and your despair, and I know you hold more love in your heart for our world than it had ever shown itself." She turned her eyes away, unable to bear the sincerity in his eyes that showed he believed his every word. "This world was lost long before you had the power to save it, and its fault lies in the people who made it that way. Not you, never you." 

She sniffled, knowing she was a less than a royal audience with the way she was sniveling snot and tears in front of her friend. "I'm scared, Thom," she rasped, her voice cracking in the face of his vouch for her. 

"Shh, shh, lass," he soothed, taking his hands from her shoulders to embrace her in his arms, giving her warmth where there was none before. She tucked her head into his shoulder, letting herself go in a way she never had before, and as the tears fell between the both of them? Well, they never said anything of it. 

* * *

It was late in the day when they finally arrived in Lothering, the land empty and decadent with an aura of death. Druela was hit with a profound sense of loss as she looked at the once lively town she had visited as a child, flawed as it had been. Now it was in a state of decay, the land blackened and lifeless like most of the world, but where most places had buildings, everything here had long been turned to dust. 

"There's the bridge," Thom pointed up ahead, to the only place that still had color, though, in ruins, it may be. Druela popped her knuckles to give her trembling hands something to do, her heart hammering in her chest in anticipation of seeing Solas after all this time. Goosebumps raised on her arms the closer they got to the highway, feeling haunted by her every step. When they reached the stairway, she took a deep breath, ready for anything Solas might throw at her, and climbed. It was empty when she came to the road, and Rainer's heavy footfalls echoed through the silence. She swallowed, moving forward to where the bridge collapsed to search for any sign of Solas and idly noticed Thom didn't follow her. 

There were no traces of Solas, and she felt panic coil her gut at what this meant. Had he been delayed by the corpses, or had been this been a trap all along? She sighed, watching her breath manifest like smoke after a fire, and wondered what the point of all this was. Light footsteps sounded behind her. "Thom," she turned to ask what he thought when she was punched in the gut - an electric shock going through her body at the suddenness of the action. His face was so close to her's that she could see his eyes to the smallest detail. There were tears in his eyes, but the sight that sent every hair raising was the sight of the cornea leaking black liquid down his irises. He looked right at her, but it's like she wasn't there, his eyes hazy and unfocused. That's when she felt the weight on her back. 

She looked down, unable to accept the reality in front of her eyes. The hilt of her sword stared up at her, its blade entirely gone, and she could see her wide-eyed reflection in the crystals. Her stomach felt wet, and she belatedly realized she was bleeding. Her vision blurred as she glanced from her weapon to her friend. He was staring at her with the cold eyes of death that told her what was happening. 

_No._

"Sleeper," she gasped, rooted to the spot. Tears welled in her eyes. He lied to her!

Black veins were pulsing up his arms and throat, his mouth opening reflexively as his spine suddenly snapped back. Black blood sprayed into the air, narrowly missing Druela, as his skin split apart, revealing what happens when a corpse ruptures under the force of its new body. She stumbled backward, and she nearly toppled to the ground as she tried to distribute the unbalanced weight of the sword impaling her. She hunched forward awkwardly, held up by stubbornness alone. Even as her body burned hot from the inside, she watched as the Archdemon grotesquely possessed her friend's corpse. 

The Taint of the Archdemon corrupted everything of its host. Its hideous black horns curved out from its head, brown hair had become a long wild mane while its body bristled with a course layer of hair, its ribcage splitting down the middle that opened and closed with each breath like a mighty jaw, hands turning to talons, and limbs bulky and melded to Thom's armor. Druela had never seen the Archdemon when it took the immortal dragons as host during the Blights, but seeing the truly demonic and godly form in front of her now, malnourished and skeletal that it was - she knew it would haunt her for the rest of her life. 

Showing the whites of its eyes, the Archdemon looked down at her in deadly intent. Its mouth was opening in a promise of painful end, teeth so long and sharp that she was backing away in an instant, only to collapse as white-hot agony burned through her body from her stomach. She cried out in terror, and with an urgent slash of her hand, a barrier of ice curved up around her. 

Druela cursed, curling up on her side as she felt the blade cut her through the inside and hating every tear that fell from her eyes.

Thom lied to her face when she asked him what happened with the Grey Wardens. She thought they were done lying to each other - she trusted him with _everything!_ And now, just like she was seventeen, he betrayed her! She flinched as talon nails screeched against the barricade, her mana holding for now, but not forever. Coughing, she felt her lungs wet and itch until she couldn't stop herself from vomiting a pool of blood, acid burning the back of her throat as she did so. She felt empty, her body weak and shivering as she burned from where she was impaled. Even her eyes stung when they dried up from tears, and she wanted to hate and despair - when all she could feel was _numb._

Suddenly, the ice cracked as the Archdemon slammed its entire weight in it, and as Druela enforced it with another pull from her mana, she made haste to defend herself further. Her only chance at surviving the Archdemon was to outlive it - eventually, it would wear out its mortal body, as she would her's at this rate. Slamming her palm on the ground, she slapped a gravitational ring around her and significantly slowed the Archdemon's movement speed. Next, she made use of her spilled blood and prepared herself for her frankly horrible idea - summoning an earthquake on the bridge. Stone cracked and wobbled, it's structural integrity compromised and catching both Archdemon and elf in its collapse. She shouted out, calling the roots of the earth to catch her awkwardly in the air. Druela cursed as the sword slammed into the roots, slicing back through her so she could see five inches of the blade at her front, and her blood painted on it was the last thing she saw before she blacked out. 

Light and color flashed through her eyes multiple times, covered by roots that had shielded her in her last moments of consciousness, but never was she able to keep herself awake. The agony in those times was unbearable, each time filled with terror and panic as the Archdemon tried to break through her barricade. 

At some point, Druela heard barking and growling. She watched a white-furred creature as large as the Archdemon tear it away from her with its claws through blurry vision. Black and red blood splattered on what remained of the bridge around her, but she couldn't stay awake like before. 

The last time she opened her eyes, it was by feeling her mana return to her as the roots of the earth pull away from her. She still felt hot, and her exhaustion turned into a fearful thing, so sure that if she couldn't force herself to stay awake this time - she wouldn't wake up again at all. Fortunately, the Archdemon was gone but in its place was a six-eyed wolf. When his eyes found hers, she was filled with dread as he trotted to her.

It was hard to breathe at this point, but Druela Lavellan was never one to go down quietly, "you're late, _dahn'direlan!_ "

The wolf became a man when he reached her, and she was caught off guard by the sight of dark dreadlocks sweeping down his shoulders, giving him a completely different look than the one she'd known before. "Actually," he had the gall to chuckle! "It seems I arrived right on time."

She snarled at him, lip peeling back to bared her teeth, showing him she would fight him 'till her last breath if he antagonized her further. His dark amusement faded, Fen'Harel's yellow eyes moving down her body to where her own sword stuck out of her like some sick joke. "You're dying, too," he whispered, kneeling beside her curled up form. She hated looking up to him as much as seeing him look down at her. Four years since she last saw him, and he still had his usual look of superiority! 

Where Thom's betrayal, death, and monstrous possession had left her feeling empty and numb, seeing Solas again had awoken a fire in her that burned every scrape and wound in her in red-hot anger. If he came closer, she wasn't sure she wouldn't claw his at his face! "I am glad you came, lethallan," he said sorrowfully. 

"Do not call me that, _Fen'Harel!_ We are not friends, and clearly, we never were!" She growled back, every muscle taut at his words. His ears twitched down, evident sadness at her words, even if his expression hadn't changed. His audacity to call her a friend, after all, he had done! Deceiving and belittled her, sacrificing the people to destroy this world! Not to mention, "and where the fuck were you?"

Solas sighed, but whether it was for her cursing (which he never cared for) or the situation, she didn't know. "I was ambushed here a few hours ago and had to lure them away from here. Clearly, I was unsuccessful," he said with quite a load of self-loathing at himself. She knows what to feel at the sight of his despair - pleased? But she wasn't. Even her anger wasn't directed entirely at him - and more like the situation altogether. She wanted to blame Solas for everything that had happened, but while he had caused it, Thom had deceived her in the full knowledge that he was a _Sleeper_ , and she doubted she could ever understand his reasons for it.

So, instead of dwelling on it and feeling worse for others' decisions affecting her life, she moved on. "Why did you want to meet?" She asked quietly, wondering what he could need from her now that she would be dead soon. Her? Dying? She had seen death so many times but never really thought to see herself on the other end of it. Even when she contemplated it, it had always felt like another thing she would survive. 

  
Solas looked at her with the same thoughts reflected in his eyes, deep and dark despair revealing a depth in the elvhen she had never seen before. "I have come to offer... an opportunity to right my wrongs," he said inelegantly, leaving Druela with more questions than an answer. She could sigh if only exhaling that deep didn't lose her breath entirely. "Why now?" She asked shortly. She didn't want to give Solas all the time left in her dying hour, four years of absence or not. 

He frowned, sighing deeply enough for the both of them, and moved the shawl of his wolf pelt away from his shoulder, revealing his death sentence. Three deep lacerations slashed through his entire arm, the skin discolored near a death-like state, and his veins were black and pulsing with another's life-blood. He was tainted and, by the look of it, well on his way to becoming Blighted. 

"When?" She asked, wondering if he had risked himself to keep her safe when he was ambushed earlier. 

"A day. I was able to slow the spread of the infection so you could meet me," he said quietly, eyes cast down like he knew what she was thinking. To be honest, that made more sense. Why else would he want to meet her unless he was dying? Was she on his bucket list or something? His last regret, perhaps? She supposed she should be flattered, having a _Creator_ honoring her with his presence and everything. 

Well, he can go fuck himself and all the other Creators who helped nobody since they returned to the world. 

She clenched her fist as a particular breath sent liquid fire in her veins, but she knew better than to ask an Infected Mage for healing. Besides, no matter how Solas acted, he wasn't a god, and he couldn't heal a mortal wound. "So then," she drawled slowly, as disinterested as she could voice. "What do you need to take from me, now?" It was a calm and emotionless question, empty of all the threat and rage she felt for it. Solas shivered, just barely noticeable, but his ears always gave him away to her.

After a pause, she elaborated, "and stop being vague. None of us have the time," to save herself some time of him walking around her in circles and annoying riddles. 

Solas crossed his legs as he got comfortable in front of her, something she rather envied considering her current position. "To be blunt? I need you to take my spirit so that you can use my knowledge and power to turn back time and save the world." 

She blinked. 

"What," she deadpanned, hissing as the growl pained her in new places. 

"The Tevinter may have created a device that manipulated time through the veil, but it was always a power achieved by the knowledge of the elvhen," he complained, but at her impatient look, he quickly got to the point. "The Elvhenan had long since developed magic on how to create and travel through different dimensions in the world. I was able to develop the magic that would allow me to go back to a time I could influence using this knowledge." He paused a moment to look at her, and after a slow beat, she realized what he wanted.

Ever the _ha'ren._

"Then why are you still-" she stopped herself, her eyes going to his tainted arm. "Oh."

Then, as realization struck, she straightened in horror. 

"You want to _possess_ me?" Her eyes darted at the hilt of the sword, knowing if she found the strength to pull it out - she would bleed out in minutes. She just saw her friend die to be possessed by the Archdemon; she wouldn't let her body be taken by _bloody fucking Fen'Harel!_ It was a trap! It had always been a trap - Thom had been right, and she insisted on coming here, and now he was _dead-_

"No!" Solas said abruptly, for once opening his expression to show her the same horror for his words. He closed his eyes tightly in annoyance at his ill wording, hissing a string of elvhen that was beyond her comprehension. "No," he said more calmly, opening his eyes to meet her's with such serenity and desperation that her next words caught in her throat. It was the same look of the last Keeper when he was on his deathbed, entrusting the First to his authority as the Clan's protector. 

He shook his head to the side firmly as he said, "possession is an extreme exaggeration of what I'm proposing. It has nothing to do with me," he looked at her the same way Thom had last night. Like she was so much more than she saw herself. "It has occurred to me that everything that has happened, everything I've done to help The People," she noted his emphasis on the elves, "has only made things worse." 

He said it in such a resigned way, as though he failed in a divine purpose that she couldn't help but snort at his entitlement. The sheer ignorance and inability to relate to other people astounded her, even in her dying moment! Even she knew she wasn't divine, for all people heralded her as one. He grimaced, clearly unfamiliar with hearing other people's opinions on his thoughts. She thought it was about time he knew how it felt to be on the other end of it. She had to give him points for courage for continuing on, though. "There are few people I have witnessed through history that could lead a new age for Thedas, but with each person, none have known the height of my mistakes but you."

So she was the plan in his worst-case scenario. _Awesome._

Whatever expression she was making had Solas backtracking _real_ quick. "I just mean, you were there when I gave my power to Corypheus and stopped him. You were never someone I could predict, and you always surprise me with how you handled matters." Solas was too good at being condescending to flatter anybody, apparently. It was kind of amusing how hard he was trying, though. "You were the leader the people needed, always solving their problems no matter how mundane, while I was too busy plotting how it could never happen." That was pretty flattering, at least. She could give him that. 

"You're stuck in the past," she whispered, wetting her tongue when it was becoming dry, grimacing at the taste of copper in her mouth. He tilted his head in acquiescence. "Perhaps, even if I were not infected as I am, I would not trust myself with this power. I made it, yet I can not use it responsibly," he huffed. "And I cannot teach it to anyone, either. It requires enormous power, and the last time you held even a sliver of it, it nearly killed you." Her mouth twisted into a snarl at the reminder of her lack of an arm. 

"What I propose will change you but not your soul. You will still be who you are but with my memories and my power." He said with a harmless gesture as if that lessened the finality of that revelation in some way. 

Head pounding with growing confusion, Druela shuddered at the thought, knowing that to learn new things was to grow from it, and like it or not, she would change when she gained all Solas's memories, possibly even thoughts. Would she even be able to distinguish what were her memories if she had his too?

"So what? I will be stuck with you talking in my head for the rest of my life?" She snapped, entirely unhappy at the idea, let alone the reality of that happening. 

Solas slumped as she made her displeasure for his person known. Did he honestly think her ire didn't grow in her blatant avoidance of her? She didn't want to know what was going on in his head now - she didn't want to ever know! "No, if you chose to go through with this-"

"Oh, so I have a choice this time?" She asked sarcastically, smiling sharply when Solas's eyebrow twitched in irritation at her blatant interruption of his creative highness. "Yes, you have a choice Druela. I won't take this decision from you." A moment was staring into his eyes with full skepticism, and eventually, he caved. She knew him too well to believe _that._ "And for this to work, you have to be willing to let me in."

"That sounds ominous," she snarked, again, because hey, she was dying and she couldn't resist riling up the wolf when he was cornered. 

He exhaled sharply through his nose, looking for all the world to see like a ruffled wolf, and continued pointedly, _"as I was saying,_ you do not need to be concerned with having me in your head as I will no longer be." He grumbled, entirely displeased at her opinion. 

"You're immortal, Solas," she thought to remind him, trying to discern if he was trying to pull the wool over her eyes. She learned years ago not to trust him at his word. 

"Did you know that the first of the Elvhenan were spirits?" He asked, In a very unfriendly manner. Solas knew full well that she had no idea about her ancestry, and she scowled at him for the attitude. If he ever thought any measure ahead than that stick up his ass, he would know that asking questions about where one came from lead to religious wars and slavery. "The Elvhenan that the _Dalish_ ," he snarled her clansmen in distaste, "called Creators had been the first spirits to create flesh and blood. We made bodies to hold our spiritual power and became what you call 'Immortal.'"

"And let me guess, you were the first spirit of Pride to make a body?" She said dryly. There was that eyebrow twitch, again. 

"Yes, I was," he said with annoyance laced with pride. Druela shook her head in exasperation; only a pride spirit would name itself after what they were. "But it was more than making a body. We were spirits that evolved our nature, surpassing the spiritual dimension to enter the physical one."

He looked away from her then, staring into the sky like the breach still haunted it. "When I constructed the Veil, I separated the spiritual dimension from the physical one in a way that would deny the spirits from evolving and crossing through to the physical realm."

Druela quirked an eyebrow at him and muttered, "so you fucked over the elves and the spirits?" Solas continued as though he hadn't been interrupted, but his ears visibly twitched in irritation. "Many spirits lost themselves because of it. When they couldn't grow anymore, they learned a different way to reach the life they had been denied, corrupting their nature and transforming into demons. But even when they found a way to cross the realms, they could only take a life that already exists. In doing so, their nature would corrupt the very nature of life, forcing an existence that was never meant to be and twisting their stolen body into an abomination." 

Druela held her hand up, stopping him from continuing his history lesson to ask, "and this is relevant, _how?"_ She knew she was quickly wearing on his patience, but she had no fucks left at this point. So long as the Archdemon wasn't killing her, she didn't care how she went down. Being killed by the Dread Wolf for pushing his patience seemed almost poetic, really. 

"It's relevant because what we will be doing is similar in nature. Ultimately, I am still a spirit and while this body was created so I could consciously exist on this realm, I can still be killed." She nodded like she was following. "If I leave this body and enter yours, my spirit will entwine with your spirit, providing you with _what_ made me who I was but ultimately taking away _who_ I am now." 

Druela blinked, stilling her breath for a moment as she took that information in like she was learning a new language and trying to pick out the similarities in the terms she actually knew. Finally, she relented and just asked, "can you rephrase that?"

Solas sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose like when she was a teenager asking him what was wrong with saying fenedhis? "I will replace my nature with your own, losing what makes me who I am, but providing what I am to you nonetheless - in memories and spiritual power." She nodded with a real 'ah' of understanding this time, actually getting it now. 

It still seemed like Solas would be in her head, but as long as he wasn't himself, she could live with it. 

She jolted as the thought crossed her mind. Wait, if she really was going through this, "how will I survive?" she asked, needing no unnecessary gesture to talk about the literal greatsword skewering her. 

Solas smiled like he was anticipating this question and looking forward to answering it, annoying her. If he could be less obvious about his calculations, that would be great. "While the Elvhen are not truly immortal and can, in fact, be killed, we were considered gods for a reason." He said so smugly she wanted to punch him. "Our enormous spiritual power allowed us to use magic to an unlimited degree, spells and incantations that drain lesser beings would barely make a dent in our mana reserves, and our wars could last decades during a single battle." He looked downtrodden at that, ignoring how Druela was bristling at being indirectly referred to as 'lesser.' 

"In theory, once you have access to my magic, you should be able to heal the injury - at least to the point of saving your life." He said off-handedly like it wasn't entirely guaranteed that she would survive their spiritual joining. She grimaced; that sounded so wrong. "In theory?" She glared, unable to raise her voice lest she pulls at her stomach. Solas frowned, his brows furrowed in inquisitiveness (who knew how expressive he was when he had _hair?)_. 

"While my calculations were inspired by Mythal and Flemeth, what I'll be sacrificing is much different, and the result is something I can only make guesswork of." For the first time, she wished she was predictable for a change, if only to know this one thing for sure. "Mostly, I am unsure because your body will be changed to be a vessel of our combined spiritual power. In doing so, it could change your body around the wound and adapt to mortal injuries, since removing the sword from you now will kill you outright." She really didn't like the sound of that.

Druela sighed and accepted the likelihood of her death. Ultimately, this option was better than having nothing, which she had before Solas re-entered her life. The opportunity to try, at the very least, was worth it. She would sacrifice herself a hundred times, just to be given a chance like this, to provide the world with an opportunity to evolve like the spirits of Elvhenan. 

Besides, isn't this what she wanted last night? How could she deny herself the chance now? She had been naïve many times in her life, but she would not be a fool here and refuse the offer simply because she hated the person providing her with it! Straightening her mental backbone, she looked at the man she hated most in the world and nodded, "do it."

To her surprise, he hesitated for a moment, a brow dipping forward in concern. "You should know," he said haltingly, like the words themselves were venomous. "to prevent the new dimension from collapsing, our past selves will be destroyed for the two of us to exist there." 

She couldn't say she understood what this bit was about dimensional stability, but she did know when he essentially said they would cease to exist in their timeline. While it was a relief to know a past Solas wouldn't be interfering in whatever her plans were when she got to the past, she had to accept that her Clan would be able to adapt in her absence. Her thoughts halted for a moment as she had an epiphany. "How did you know I would go back to a time where I was born?" She asked, suspiciously with irritation laced in her tone. 

He ducked his head, his ears flickering back in a manner that suddenly reminded her of a wolf. Even her ears weren't as expressive as his! "It was a technical deduction. In theory, you will only be able to go back to a timeline you existed in. While you have my memories, I doubt you would go back to the time of the Elvhenan that ruined your future, nor would you interfere with a timeline history has proved to have recorded inaccurately over the ages. While I was able to discern what was happening in the world through my dreams, I did not actually experience it, as my decision-making has proved," he muttered under his breath.

"Furthermore, I deduced that you would go to a timeline where the Archdemon last made its appearance in the physical realm; coincidentally before Corypheus's escape, the Mage-Templar War, and the burning of the Val Royeaux Alienage." The latter of which killed thousands of elves, neither said. 

She nodded, having not thought it out as more than a whim, but now that he laid out the logistics of such a plan, she couldn't ignore the ideal timing of it all. "So, how does this work?" She asked, wary of the answer. Solas gave her a wry smile at her question and slowly withdrew a dagger from his pauldron. He flipped it, catching the blade of it harmlessly, so the hilt was facing her. She narrowed her eyes at him, refusing to take the dagger, though she couldn't help but take in the craftsmanship of it. It was clearly well looked after, the engraving on it unfamiliar but clearly elvhen, yet worn in a way that it was used well. She cast her eyes away from the dagger to meet Solas's eyes, trying to figure out what he wanted. 

Unsurprisingly, she couldn't read him. 

"Without the Veil, my spirit will return to the spiritual dimension. Since Thedas's physical and spiritual dimensions are so close together, however, I will be able to cross between the two dimensions to enter your body should you welcome my presence." While they had thoroughly discussed the matter, Druela still felt her skin itch at what sounded a lot like demonic possession. She hoped she controlled her expression enough to hide her uncertainty, however, and reminded herself again that this was better than nothing. Though, this did raise an important question. 

"What does that mean, Solas? How the fuck am I supposed to welcome you? Picture a door opening in my mind?" She asked skeptically. 

Solas thrust the dagger toward her, raising an eyebrow as though saying, _'so?'_ After a short sigh, she took it in her hand despite its horrible shakiness. "Do you remember when you took someone's first life?" Druela balked at the question, thrown off for a moment before recalling the memory.

It was after the Keeper's First became the Keeper for the Clan, and she, prideful and reckless as she was, killed a human that had traveled too close to where they were encamped. She thought the man as less than her, a crass _shem_ that would do worse to her people for less, and killing him was so easy, it was scary. When Druela came back to her camp, she thought that she was smart, but then her Keeper pulled her aside and knocked her right over the head with her staff as she scolded her.

_"Druela Arana, being smart will count for nothing if you don't make the world a better place. Killing that human will only bring more to find him, and when they come, they will seek revenge on the whole Clan." Druela never thought she would place the Clan in danger when she thought she was helping them and practically burst into tears - she had been so arrogant - to think she knew so much as to hold life and death in her hands. The Keeper brushed the tears gently from her eyes. "You have to use your smarts to count for something good, da'len. Do you want to save life or cause death? To be Keeper is to be a protector of people."_ It had been long ago, but Druela never forgot what she was told.

A week later, her Keeper sent her away from the Clan as a spy. Druela's duty to her Clan was to learn where the Dalish stood in a world that was at war with itself. But her commitment to herself was to understand what kind of world she lived in and what she could do to make it better. She wasn't sure if that was the answer Solas wanted from her, but as she looked up and met his eyes, only then did she notice the tear in hers. "Shit," she cursed, hating that she was crying in front of him, but her soul was so raw from the memory that she couldn't help it. 

Solas didn't look at her like her tears made her weak or beneath him. Instead, he brushed a tear from her cheek and looked at it like it was precious as he told her, "when you took a life for the first time, you opened your soul, for whatever reason that was, remember that feeling." He then awkwardly laid down in front of her, laying on his side so that their eyes met. He was close enough that she could press the tip of the blade into his clothing with her elbow still bent, close enough that the hilt of the sword in her stomach was in reach, and at any moment, they could end each other's life. 

"I don't know what it will feel like, but it won't hurt." He cupped her untainted hand on hers and slowly directed the blade to his chest, where she could hear his heart thumping rapidly in. She swallowed, suddenly aware that her wish came true. "All you have to do is kill... my body... and my spirit will reach out to you. Everything after that is yours to make," he whispered, surprisingly holding onto her hand - and she realized it was because she didn't have enough strength to sink the blade entirely in. She licked her lips, nervous but knew as much as she was helping him, it was also a mercy kill. Better to die like this than to turn into a corpse. 

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened her eyes next, she looked into Solas's eyes and saw the acceptance in his fate, so different from everyone else she had ever seen die. _"Dar'atisha,"_ she whispered, unable to say anything else as she pushed his dagger in his chest, his own strength helping her breakthrough his body's defenses to reach his heart. She saw more than she felt the blade pierce his heart, the yellow of the dread wolf's eyes turning glassy. His body slumped like a bird's wings were cut, collapsing to his back, lifeless and limbs rolling without purpose.

She had to release the dagger, but her hand felt wrong to not be covered in blood after such an act, but before she could wait for any unwanted feelings to strike her, Druela felt a soft wind play at her hair. She looked around, but there was nothing in sight, and neither was there natural wind passing through. She stiffened when she felt the wind pass through her entry wound but then immediately relaxed when she realized what it was, or more aptly - who it was. 

Druela took in a deep breath and felt the wind enter her being like she was taking in a remarkably refreshing breath of air in Harvestmere. It was a strange sensation and one she instinctively wanted to resist, but she fought the inclination with every bit of strength and willpower she had left. The burning pain, nearly forgotten, suddenly awoke with a frenzy, and if she had the breath, she would've screamed. Instead, she clenched her jaw and fist tight and recalled her Keeper's words like Solas advised. 

_"Do you want to save life or cause death?"_

She breathed in and closed her eyes from the sight of Solas's body, focusing entirely on the sensation within her. Druela really wished he would hurry up and find her soul. 

A pause, and then she felt amusement that was not her own. Before she could get angry and lose her grip on fighting her instincts, she felt the strongest and purest of emotion, like a feather, had caressed someplace between her abdomen and her heart. After that, her vision went white. 

And the world faded away. 


	2. Emerald Skies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A magical storm appears in Lothering. The townsfolk are terrified, and the Templars are in a frenzy as they search for the mage they think is responsible. Meanwhile, a certain chantry sister decides to investigate on her own and saves the life of a time traveler. Druela does some saving of her own, and Mythal finally makes an entrance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was such a difficult chapter to write with all the deadlines I had this past month. Then, the day I was going to post this, I had power outages all week. Ironically, it turned out to be a good thing since it helped me add a couple more scenes to this chapter that helps smooth out the scene transitions. With the additions, I don't even know what the word count will be. But hey, if you like it, then it's worth the extra length, no? 
> 
> There were many elvhen words used in this chapter, and I'm not sure if anyone actually cares for the translations I add on the endnotes. So, if you like them (and I mean anyone really), I'll add them. But if no one says anything, unless it seems pretty important, I'll leave things as they are. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Leliana sought forgiveness. 

For too long has she lost her way. After her mother died, she felt lost in the ocean of time, opportunities, and people passing by as she was pushed beneath the tide. In Orlais, everyone knew of the bards that ruled the Court, and Leliana was captivated at seeing the masters at work. 

She thought she had heard her calling. That The Great Game was the place, she was always meant to be - and it came to her naturally. It had been fun too, never knowing what would happen, maneuvering around opponents, thinking of clever ways around a trap. 

Leliana had always been a rogue at heart, and when she was young, she naively wanted to become just like the master bard she saw. Marjolaine. Oh, what a fool she was. 

She looked up at the statue of Andraste, the singing of her sisters calming the turmoil in her heart, and wondered where her true calling was if not as a bard. 

"Sister?" Leliana opened her eyes, turning to Claudia, recognizing those footsteps anywhere. 

Her heart dropped as she noticed Claudia glancing nervously at the doors, her hands nervously intertwining her fingers. "Refugees are coming in. Wounded," the emphasis was unnecessary, but Leliana stilled her tongue and rose to stand. 

"I see. Thank you for informing me," she said softly, her words curling over the vowels with deliberate slowness, sincerity laced in her tone. A pretty blush rewarded her efforts from the girl, and Leliana gave her a gentle nod before escaping the chantry. 

Leliana had been here for a year now, and despite the best of her secrets being well kept, she was ashamed to admit that she did not have as much control over her mind as she once had. Her memories were unkind to her, and years of training her tells could not stop the fear in her heart and the trauma on her body from reacting to the scent of burning flesh. 

All kinds of people passed through Lothering each day. It was one of many things she loved about the small Fereldan village. But sometimes, refugees who bandits on the Imperial Highway had ambushed would be taken to the chantry for healing, and too often did the smell bring her mind back to the dungeons of Orlais. 

She sighed through her nose, loathing herself for her weakness. 

Leliana kneeled by the gnarly rosebush, so blackened and dead compared to the lush garden of the chantry that she couldn't help but feel sorry for it. It was eyed with disgust for its failure to survive in the cruel world like its brethren every day. 

She could relate to it. 

Leliana imagined the rosebush had once been the most beautiful of all, but because of it, it was neglected in the belief such beauty could look after itself. So, while the other bushes and plants were watered and cared for with special attention, the rosebush was ignored and left to fend for itself. And when it began to wilt, people just watched to see how far it would fall before dying altogether. 

Like her. 

Shadows cast over her, and she looked up to see a flock of birds quickly flying away as though startled from something. She moved around the chantry, taking in the breathtaking view of the morning light, and paused when the dogs suddenly began to bark frantically. 

She watched a greyhound tied to the shack just outside the village walls, jumping up and down, almost twisting out of the rope around its neck - scared of something only it could sense. 

Leliana moved closer to falter as dark clouds out of nowhere - blotting out the sun into inky darkness. The blue sky turned ominous green, cracking through the sky and the storm itself manifested out of a whirlwind of clouds. 

It was sudden, and no warning was given as a gust of wind blew into the village, hitting hard and fast and snuffing out the fire as it swept through. She reached out and grabbed a wooden fence to hold her up, taking in the storm with disbelief. 

It was enormous! Larger than a galleon ship and as wide as the land outside the village walls. Leliana almost pitied the bandits she knew were stationed behind the hills. But as thunder rumbles, Leliana cast that concern on the village instead, as she felt the very earth shake beneath her feet. 

"Knight-Commander, it must be from an apostate!" Ser Maron shouted over the wind, his helmet tucked under his arm and his sword held high in the other. 

She looked closer at the storm, suddenly noticing the silhouettes of birds in mid-flight, and the strangest thing of all was how they were not moving forward. 

They were flying backward. 

Of course, the templars were likely suspecting magic because never in her life had the sky turned so green from a storm, nor arrive with so little warning that only the animals had sensed a disturbance. She bit her lip, wondering why a mage would be so foolish as to put on such a show like this in plain view of everyone. 

And then she swallowed, thinking of the sweet raven-haired girl who often ventured outside the village walls, and on occasion, brought flowers to her. Could it be Bethany?

She shook that thought off as soon as it came. Leliana knew everyone in this village, and of the few hundred locals that lived here, there were half a dozen mages, and none of them ever displayed magic outwardly. Maker knew the only reason Leliana could tell was from her bard training. 

In the end, the state of one's body always gives them away - and the hands always told the type of weapon they held most. 

This led to the most probable scenario that this was a foreign mage, an apostate on the run, and potentially a vengeful one if the storm's size was any consultation. Leliana didn't know if she should feel grateful for the Templars defending the village of a threat of this caliber or fearful for the mages' sake, who likely had been forced into this position because of the way the world treats them. 

If the Templars found the apostate, the storm would no longer threaten the village, but they would burn them alive too - which meant Leliana couldn't be here when that happened. She squeezed her eyes, wondering how people could be blind to the Maker's love? 

Then again, Leliana mused as she turned back to the birds; she couldn't help but question if there was something more going on here. Maybe she should stay.

"Mages? Why mages?" She heard a scared townsfolk shout and looked over her shoulder to find all the villagers watching the storm, their faces pale with terror. 

"Templars! Do your jobs!" 

Leliana clenched her jaw, watching as the Templars grew restless from the fearful and angry shouts. Couldn't they see they were only making things worse?

Lightning flashed so brightly she was blinded, and she nearly cried out as color was stripped from her to be replaced with shapeless and colorless light. She blinked rapidly, desperate to see what was happening, and only saw the world return with color for a few seconds before another lightning bolt struck, this time luminescent green and not quite as blinding. 

Leliana jumped away from the wooden fence and moved into the fields, keeping her steps light in case Allison's father had placed traps in the fields. 

As another lightning bolt struck into the forests, she was sure that any moment there would be a wildfire traveling for miles no one could stop. She waited and waited to see that first spark of orange light as the fire took hold of the land, but nothing changed.

Lightning continued to illuminate the sky, and thunder rolled, but no rain or fire followed the harsh winds. 

In fact, now that she stopped to look, the storm hadn't moved at all. The whirlwind of clouds and lightning remained in the same place, and if she looked closely enough, she could almost swear the sky was cracking and the green light bleeding _through_ those cracks. 

But that was ridiculous. 

Impossible. 

No?

When the next bolt of lightning stole the colors from her sight again, Leliana patiently waited it out, her mind at work as she wove through every detail and questioned everything she knew about mages and magic. Was it possible someone didn't cause this? 

Surely a storm of this magnitude could destroy the village with ease. The villagers wouldn't hesitate to kill any mages they found. So why _not_ attack?

Leliana was itching to find the answers. 

When her sight was returned to her, she blinked, unable to understand how the storm was there one moment... and _completely gone_ the next! 

She glanced up as the birds fluttered overhead, flying forward as they were meant to, and if she didn't know better, she would question if she had imagined the entire thing. But no, the templars charging into formation in front of Ser Bryant dismissed that notion. 

Leliana flicked her wrist, a hidden blade falling into her palm as she made her choice. 

There was something else going on here, and if Leliana didn't find the answer herself, she would never learn the truth. Maybe the life of a bard wasn't her calling, but she knew better than to ignore her instincts as one. She kept close to the walls, slipping out of slight to follow the Imperial Highway, one eye on the Templars. 

Leliana knew she didn't have much time to investigate the clearing, but at least she would know exactly when and where the templars arrived by their ridiculously noisy armor. Honestly, not even chevalier armor was that bad, and their metal was more ceremonial than anything!

She lurked carefully forward, and while she was in plain sight, she would be easily overlooked. It was thrilling to be doing something exciting again; her blood was practically singing. 

Leliana went to move toward the windmill, where the center of the storm had circled, only to freeze in place as a cry caught her attention. It was so quiet and could have been mistaken for the wind if she was anyone else, but dread filled her heart as she turned around and looked in the direction of the sound. 

Her nose burned as the sharp scent of copper filled it on her next breath, and while blood had never scared her in her lifetime - _that was a lot of blood_ \- the sight in front of her changed her mind. 

The grass was slick and wet with it, stained red like the marshes in the north, and it all trailed back to the shadows cast over by the ruined bridge. She tried not to step in it, hyperaware that she would create an even more obvious trail if she did, and carefully tucked herself into the shadows. 

There was a body. Human, by the height. And they were - _Maker!_

She put her hand over their mouth and startled when she felt breath. This person had a greatsword run through their body, and they were still _alive?_

She thought quickly about what to do. Leliana knew she couldn't move them, not in this state, but the Templars would find them if she did nothing! She carefully felt the stranger's body, unable to deduce any other way in this darkness, and realized two things. 

One, the stranger was a woman, and her skin was ice cold. She didn't have much time left. 

And two, whoever stabbed her was inexperienced and had no idea where they were aiming, or they had intended this woman to die slowly and in agony. 

Leliana knew enough about healing that she could try to save her, but in doing so, with her amateur skills, was it really better to put her through more pain at a chance at survival? Or should she show mercy and put this poor woman out of her misery? 

Strategically thinking, it would be more logical to kill this woman and let her body be found by the Templars, preventing them from going on a mage hunt on the residents of Lothering. But on the other hand, would the Maker forgive her for using someone's life in such a way? Defile her body by leaving her to be found and judged wrongfully? 

It would save the mages in Lothering. 

But it would damn a victim of circumstance. 

Leliana flipped the blade in her hands, wondering what look must be in her eyes as she weighed one's worth. She thought of herself, back in the dungeons of Orlais, where she was branded a traitor and lost all credibility among her network. 

Whether she was guilty or not, anyone who helped her after she had been judged would've been punished far worse for helping _a traitor—_ someone who had played The Great Game of Orlais and lost. But someone helped her anyways, for what purpose she had yet to learn, and Leliana had suspicions as to what she wanted from her. 

It was one of many reasons she had run. 

She shook her head, focusing back on the topic at hand, and thought of how she was given a chance when it would've been _smarter_ to leave her in the dungeons to die. Dorethea freeing her had been an enormous risk but one she had judged worth it, putting her countrymen at risk and leaving Orlais with a bad reputation because one of their traitors had escaped. 

Leliana couldn't escape what she had been done to her, even if it wasn't who she was. 

Perhaps this woman was in a similar position. She would be branded as a mage if Leliana brought her back to the village, regardless if she was responsible for the storm or not. And no one would care if the storm hadn't hurt anyone; they were simply too scared.

Dead or alive, Lothering would decide this woman's life for her. 

Leliana swallowed. She made her choice.

_Besides,_ she thought as she removed the woman's bloodstained shoes, surely if she had survived this long, the Maker intended something for her. Most in this state would've given up by now.

Dismissing her plans for the rest of the day, Leliana skillfully began to leave a false trail for the Templars to follow that would hopefully buy her a few hours to save this woman from the Maker's embrace. 

* * *

Hours later and Leliana had a fire going and many questions for the woman at her feet. The light of mid-day had pushed back the shadows, and as the Leliana set eyes on the woman whose identity was no longer cloaked by darkness. 

Leliana would've regretted letting the woman die, that's for sure. The mystery of this woman, she wanted to unravel her story and learn what kind of person she was. 

It's just; she has never seen someone so beautiful. Her eyes trailed over the woman's distinctly pointed ears, matching her elven body build and features no one would ever find on a human. What she would never find on an elf, however, was someone as tall as this woman. 

Leliana would bet she was even a couple of inches taller than her. It was bizarre, like seeing a qunari the size of an elf. 

But even unconscious from bloodloss with a greatsword impaled through her body, something was captivating about her that had nothing to do with her height or missing arm. 

The latter, having startled her - she hadn't realized it was missing by the number of layers of clothing the woman wore until she cut it off. She couldn't imagine what it had to be like, living and fighting with only one arm, and the scar was still bright - which means it has been a couple of years since losing it. 

Leliana wondered how she adapted with such a great loss. To lose a part of yourself like that? The woman was clearly a warrior with her muscle tones and weapon callouses. But she didn't think the answer she was looking for was something her body could tell her - only her voice, and so she pushed her questions to the back of her mind. 

She was seeing a lot of strange things today; things people didn't see every day. The storm. The tattoos that marked this woman a Dalish Elf - and the oddities surrounding her. 

If her life weren't in her hands right now, Leliana would be questioning her worldview right about now. 

But no, keeping this woman alive was her main concern. 

Removing her clothes had also caused great concern for the woman's chances. The greatsword was wedged between the woman's chest and stomach, and she knew had to muffle the woman from screaming when she pulled it out. Moreover, the greatsword wasn't the only injury she had to worry about. 

There was a deep laceration curving above her hip bone - prominent from malnutrition - and while it had been taken care of, its placement reminded her eerily of torture.

_Hanging within the dungeon cell by the chains around her wrists, Leliana squeezed her eyes as the white-hot poker neared her skin; she could feel the burning heat and smell her flesh as it cooked-_

Leliana didn't know what she would do or how she should act in the face of that. 

And to make things worse, she had to cauterize the wound when she pulled the sword out because anything else would take too much time and cost the elf her life. 

"Maker, help me," she whispered, trying to be strong for the woman. 

The blade was ready to cauterize, but Leliana stalled by taking a strip of leather and clamping it between the elf's teeth.

The best she could do was try to muffle her screams since it would take both her hands to take this greatsword out at this angle, and just to be sure, she would need to move the elf in case the noise drew someone. 

She laid down on the ground, carefully winding her legs over and under the elf, needing to keep her still. Carefully, she grabbed the handle of the greatsword with both hands and took a deep breath, muscles taut and _pulled!_

The woman woke up with an anguished howl, the scream muffled by the leather but not by much, and Leliana hissed at the horrible sound. Her thighs burned as she clamped down harder when the woman tried to pull away from her. Leliana wanted to shout that she was trying to help her. 

But she didn't have the time or the breath. 

Inch by inch, she pulled out the blade that was as tall as her, and each second, the woman writhed in agony. By the time the tip of the blade had disappeared from her back, the woman was barely conscious, and her voice had long croaked. 

Now she could only express her pain through crying, her face awash with her tears, clearing tracks of dirt down her cheeks. 

When Leliana laid the sword down, she hardened her heart for what came next and flipped around to hold her body down.

Leliana grabbed the woman's wrist in one hand and grabbed the heated blade in the other, knees and elbows pressing down hard as the exhausted woman somehow found the energy to fight her. How she even had the strength to do so, Leliana didn't know. 

She didn't give herself a moment to prepare, pushing the blade against the open wound with a sizzling pop that tried its best to drag her worst memories to the forefront of her mind. The elven woman bit harder on the leather, her knuckles turning white above her head, and for a moment, she stopped breathing altogether. 

The next time she breathed, she had fallen unconscious. 

Leliana pulled the hot blade off, checking the wound carefully, and sighed in relief that she got it on the first try. Now to take care of the exit wound. 

She got off of her gently and carefully, feeling a little bad about the bruises she had left but ultimately glad the woman had finally fallen unconscious. It made cauterizing the second wound easier and allowed Leliana's eyes to water in peace. 

Without a sword skewering through her, Leliana was confident she could carry her now, and with careful hands, she lifted the elf into her arms. Her legs were tired from having to hold her down, but Leliana wasn't a bard for most of her life for nothing, and she determinedly pushed past the soreness to bring her to the windmill. 

It was the safest place Leliana could bring her outside the village to protect her from the elements. Not to mention, she could prevent anyone from finding her by laying false trails over the area. 

It was only a matter of time before the Templars started looking for mages within Lothering, and while Leliana didn't regret saving this woman, she knew that things were only going to get harder from here. 

The townsfolk would be terrified, and she knew it wouldn't be long before they started turning on each other. And the Templars would be pressured by everyone to find any mage to pin the blame on and pretend that killing them will bring peace to Lothering. That their death will somehow solve the storm's appearance that didn't _actually_ hurt anyone. 

And while she would do her best to protect the mages, Leliana didn't know how much time they had before they were discovered. 

Because at this rate, it was inevitable. 

* * *

_Druela breathed deeply, taking in the rich scent of the forests she called home, and among the many forests her people had lived in, the Evergreens were the most beautiful. It was her kingdom of roots and branches, where the souls of creation surrounding her and the tranquility of nature gave her peace where she would find nowhere else._

_If the chains of fate had led her people here, she could think of no better place, and she embraced the cycle of life the forest offered her. The bow she held was crafted by her own two hands, made of Sylvanwood and boar sinew, and served a reminder that she must not waste the life she took._

_She had been tracking a white-tailed deer for miles now and was grateful that the wind was on her side today. How quickly did the rains wash the fertile soils to naked rock this morning? The scent of dew and ozone was still heavy in the air, but the sounds of nature gave her prey away._

_Druela was determined to prove herself among the hunters of the clan. That her purpose lay beyond serving as the Keeper's second, she was more than a mage; she could feel it in the way the leaves turned as she walked by and the call of the hunt as she first held a bow in her hands. What was the use in doing the same thing over and over when she knew she could contribute more?_

_Druela cloaked herself among the foliage when the deer was in sight, the rain masking her scent. She drew back the bowstring with a deep breath, looking down the line of her bow as the graceful creature grazed the grass for its food. To be a Hunter was to provide for The People, and sometimes, she had to weigh the lives of such magnificent creatures to ensure her clan's survival._

_She let the arrow fly._

_Mercifully, her aim struck true, and the animal was struck in its chest, but still, it fought to survive in its last moments. Druela approached the dying creature swiftly and kneeled by its side as she withdrew her blade for the killing blow._

_"Ela mala elgar ven atish'an la'mala hima El'vhen," she whispered. May its spirit find peace away from the waking world._

_She plunged her knife down._

* * *

_The song of Uth'then'era played through the night of Ghilan'nain's mourning. The Kingdom was quiet as the people manifested their sorrow for losing one of the Evanuris in song and magic. She felt the loss deep in her heart for the spirit of Verity, who would no longer walk their halls as one of them._

_Andruil's voice was clear among all others, the turmoil harrowing with the loss of her love. Solas couldn't imagine what she was feeling - she never understood love as deep as the relationship Ghilan'nain and Andruil shared._

_What was it worth, anyway, if it left her like this?_

_"What are the benefits of love, Sule'vi'in, if it only brings anguish?" She asked, voice low and deep as she turned to her friend who has been by her side for ages past. Ghilan'nain had been one of the kindest and truest souls he had ever known, and she was tortured by one of The People out of petty revenge for being shown Andruil's mercy. As a result, Andruil had to kill Ghilan'nain to save her. It was unimaginable, what one of their people had done, and the result of their actions would be felt for generations._

_The sorrow of The People resonated to her very soul as wolves howled and dragons roared in the passing of one of the Elvhen - the eldest of spirits ever to grace this world._

_The incorporeal figure made of the light as bright as the stars hummed the song beneath her breath. He did not answer at first, and they looked to the illuminated night sky where the colors of elvhen magic danced in graceful waves. In respect to Ghilan'nain, Hallas danced in the light, and perhaps in the hope that one-day Ghilan'nain's spirit would join them in these halls once more._

_That one day, she would transcend and wake to join the physical realm at Andruil's side._

_But spirits could take hundreds of thousands of years to achieve the transcendence that the Evanuris had. Their kingdom had lasted for a millennium but could Andruil live through another without her lover? Could the Elvhenan rule the same Empire in her absence?_

_"Andruil was a spirit of Fortitude, Solas, and in this life, she is an inspiration to The People by finding the courage to endure pain and adversity for her love for Ghilan'nain. Giving her heart to Ghilan'nain - a spirit of Verity - brought out the best in Andruil. You will find that love is made of many layers of intricate emotions that are not always positive but provide what our spirit needs most of all - even if we did not realize what was missing until that moment."_

_She did not understand. She had always been alone - a leader among the wolves and the Elvhenan. What could she need from another that she cannot provide herself?_

_"Loving someone is guaranteed to bring pain, but it will also bring empathy and strength to endure hardship you would struggle to face alone," Sule'vi'in paused, his own magic manifesting in elegant darkness that made the colors stand out with purpose._

_"This day is sad because we mourn for the person Ghilan'nain can no longer be, pure as her spirit may now be, as she has lost the transcendence that made her one of the Evanuris... and it may be a millennia before she joins us again. A thousand years before Andruil can see Ghilan'nain as she is meant to be, and not the primordial spirit she has returned to being."_

_Solas wondered if the halla were watching the people mourn? If Ghilan'nain grazed among them and looked into the sky and knew this was all for her? If she did, she wondered what she thought of them all?_

_There were times she missed running through the forests as a primordial spirit - a great wolf, knowing only the urge to hunt and protect the pack. But she prides herself in transcending her spirit nature that makes her one of the Elvhen - able to experience all emotion and any nature. While she will always have the spirit of pride a part of her, she cannot imagine losing what makes her who she is now. Nor can she imagine what Andruil must feel._

_"Do you think she will recover? Andruil's judgment has not been right in the last few meetings."_

_The spirit of purpose sighed and turned to face her. "Ghilan'nain lost her life because Andruil has spared the hunter's life who wronged her on her advisor's behest. Spirits are pure, and on occasion, our advice is not realistic for the world as it has become. Against her better judgment, she had listened to Shala, and it resulted in a loss she will never forget. Andruil's purpose in life has changed in the wake of that, and she will no longer listen to her spirit advisor."_

_"Should we change her philosophy, then?" She commented dryly, hiding her uneasiness in the face of such change. Andruil had always been a nurturer of life, someone who thrived in the present moment, and she was the representation of the saying, 'what was life without prosperity?'_

_Without her advisor, what was Andruil's life defined by? What was her divine purpose of providing for their people?_

_Sule'vi'in looked at her with an aura of knowing. He knew her well enough to realize what she was doing, but at least he let her keep her pride by not calling her out on it. "Perhaps we should wait and see how history remembers her, Solas. For all we know, the future could be better prepared for incidents like this from happening again."_

_She sighed but nodded her head in acceptance. She was capable of many things but knowing the future was not among her skills._

_Still, she couldn't help but imagine what she would do without Sulevin. Would a day come where she was singing Uthenara for him?_

_After all, what was pride without purpose?_

* * *

_She and Cullen had never seen eye to eye._

_Normally, this wasn't an issue in the leadership since such things were bound to happen. But in his eyes, she was a child playing a game of leadership she didn't have the life experience to understand. She may have only seen seventeen winters, but the Dalish did not survive as long as they do by isolating themselves. There were more Dalish spies among the humans than they would like to think, but Druela knew better than to mention that to a templar commander._

_He might've joined the Inquisition, but he never lost the attitude, and right now, that was blatantly clear._

_"What were you thinking?" The self-proclaimed commander roared, heavy metal fist slamming down on the war table, causing the old thing to let out a guttural groan._

_Druela clasped her hands behind her back as she ignored the man, staring at the way the walls connected through hundreds of cracks. Cracked, yet holding together, like this Inquisition._

_"Turning the mages loose with no oversight is bad enough, but keeping them where the veil is torn open is ludacris!"_

_Druela closed her eyes to keep her eyes from rolling. Once again, she lamented her foresight not to reveal her magic - her chains would be even tighter had he known what she was. She was not ignorant of her place among the advisors. She was not naive enough to believe she had free reign in a shem village. But neither would she not capitalize on the power they had given her to help her kin in Redcliffe._

_Fiona was a fool, but seldom were fools self-aware of who their wardens were._

_"You gave me a choice. I took it. You always tell me, closing the Breach is all that matters! Well, now we have the means and motive to do so," Druela replied stiffly, back straight and standing tall even though she was the shortest_ _by her elven blood. Her Keeper always said that half the argument was won by the way you carried herself._

_"And how many people will be dead by morning because of your sentiments? Mark my words, this will end in abominations that will turn the streets of Haven red with blood." Leliana glanced at Cullen at the comment, giving nothing away, but a chill went down her back as she felt the similarities between the ghoul from the dark future and this woman who held her prison here._

_  
"Then the world is forfeit, and the dark future I saw in Redcliffe will be replaced with another," she commented dryly, losing interest arguing pointlessly with him._

_This time all three advisors turned to look at her, and Druela gave nothing away to what their attention invoked in her. "Your worship-" Josephine began, but Druela simply cut her off on her next breath._

_"Our situation here is clear," her voice rang out. "The world is threatened by the breach expanding, and very few have realized the consequences of letting it spread. For reasons I don't understand, this mark is on my hand, and you have forced me into the position of making the decisions to help save it. I chose the mages, and instead of moving forward with a solution, you patronize me like a child."_

_Druela took a deep breath, taking her boiling emotions and burying them in a well in her mind, separating her personal feelings from this conversation. If it was a herald unhindered by her personal feelings they wanted, it was a herald they were going to get - but that didn't mean she had to be nice about it._

_"Arguing with you is pointless because your retort is based more on your emotions than the quality or intention of my response. You see this situation in black and white; mages or templars: good and evil. You look at the mages, and you see them of evil-intentions because to you, they always become abominations." Many of Fiona's mages were weary of the Inquisition because of the commander. Too many had heard of the death sentence Cullen had wished on the Fereldan mages ten years ago, and the fear had only grown over the years. Even with the alliance, she was certain they wondered if they had simply traded one Slaver for another._

_Cullen scowled at her. Red-rimmed eyes highlighting the veins in his eyes and the paleness in his skin. Druela felt disgusted by him. He was beneath her justification of her actions. A man who could not take care of himself could hardly take care of his own people. And yet, no one questioned him but her._

_"You say you're not a templar anymore, yet you've been on my back about choosing the templars all this time and used your own experience among them to justify their worth. You should make up your mind on where your true loyalties lie, Commander. There is no longer the Mage-Templar War for us to involve ourselves in, and for as long as your emotions cloud your judgment, your opinion will be meaningless to me."_

_"Says the Dalish Elf. What do you care about humans?" Cullen scoffed, hands reaching for the pommel of his sword._

_"I am apart of this Inquisition, Commander. I have lost all association to my clansmen. As you are an ex-Templar, I am an ex-Dalish." She smirked sharply as she continued. "To answer your question, I care because I must. My life is forfeit for as long as this mark is upon my hand." And just to rile the lion, she added, "For all you talk of spilled blood, it is obvious you desire war more than anyone here."_

_Cullen opened his mouth to no doubt deliver an explosive retort when Josephine stepped between them like a physical barrier to their argument. "Regardless of where you both stand on the matter, the Inquisition cannot afford to appear incompetent in the aftermath of this decision. All eyes are on us, and while it is early still, we cannot afford to disagree on the Herald's decisions now."_

_Josphine glowered at Cullen, though Druela admitted it was hard to tell since Josephine always carried herself with an intense aura. She had met nobles before, but none compared to this woman who served as ambassador to the Inquisition. "Commander, you do not have to like it to follow it," and then she turned that look to Druela. "And with respect, your worship, you do not have to resist us so much. The Commander is only voicing the thoughts that many share, and it is an angle we must be prepared to use to our advantage if we are to survive."_

_Druela's jaw ticked, and she wanted nothing more than to leave this room. But she was not a child, and she would not encourage Cullen's belief in acting so._

_"You are correct, ambassador," Druela drawled. "I... apologize, Commander," she said as she gave him a shallow nod, though her eyes never left his and all but channeled her feelings of distaste through them. Josephine sighed at her but did not push the matter._

_When the meeting was finally over, and Dorian was buying her some food from the tavern, Druela looked into the sky and thought back on the words she had spoken in the war room. Ex-Dalish, huh? The world of men was cruel and uninspiring, but she could not return to her people until this mark was gone from her hand. Without the mark, she was just another dalish elf for the shems to look down on._

_She sighed, wondering what creator she had offended to place her in this situation?_

_The tavern door slammed open as Dorian all but pranced out into the snow carrying her plate of food and a steaming mug. She smiled at the silliness of the man and reconsidered her opinion of the Inquisition. Druela still felt like a prisoner forced into this position and culture, but even with the advisors acting as her wardens, she'll admit to herself in the privacy of her own mind that she had found a good thing here._

_Her companions were not perfect, and some of them were not neat or tidy. But she found friends among some of them, who had come with her on her journey with enough love in their hearts to fight for and defend what was right and good in this world, as few left that there were. Some of their hearts were frayed and scarred, yet they followed her under the sun and stars, over the mountains and under the valleys, through thick and thin when they had the choice to leave._

_No matter the weather or the place she has found herself in, it is here among friends where she feels warmth in her spirit and hope in her heart._

* * *

_"You cannot be serious!" She shouted, watching with hysteria as this madness was displayed in their sacred halls._

_Fiery red locks danced with destruction as Andruil turned to face her, hazel eyes glinting with a mad sort of determination. She truly thought this was the solution to protect themselves? What about the people they had sworn to serve and protect? What about them?_

_"Solas, you must see that this is the only way! We have tried for a millennium to guide our people, and yet we have failed. What happened to Ghilan'nain happened because we only intervened when war was on the brink. We've been peace-keepers, acting indirectly from the shadows and seen as untouchable leaders. If we're to protect ourselves, we need to have more direct involvement with our people. We need to guide them constantly with punishment and reward!"_

_She snarled, lips peeling back to bare her fangs. "Pretty words to hide what it really is! You desire to make the people into slaves, Andruil! Do not color your words to hide the truth of what those markings are!" She glared at the seals Andruil had drawn, using her symbol to guide the people as a brand to directly tie their life-force to her - so she could constantly spy on her followers and always know what they were doing. And when she disagreed with what someone was doing, she could cut them off from their life-force, inflicting unimaginable pain and even death._

_She glanced to the front of the table, where Mythal slouched comfortably in her throne, crystal blue watching them with one ear turned to her spirit advisor, whose murmurs went unheard to everyone else. Her hair was braided close to the sides of her skull as the thick mane cascaded down her back in a river of molten gold. Her power thrummed beneath her skin, highlighting her skin with a golden glow and reminding him of who exactly she was._

_For Mythal to be so quiet was uncharacteristic, but she had faith that she was on her side on this appalling matter._

_"Andruil, Solas, calm," Mythal soothed, the fire in her soul heating the room to a toasty temperature. Andruil closed her eyes and exhaled deeply before sitting down. Solas narrowed her eyes when she refused to look at her and sat stiffly in her chair as Mythal stood._

_"Andruil, I see the rage in your heart and soul. The words you speak in well-intentioned purity calm you but scare Solas. You two are blind to the good in each other's hearts, and if you continue to fight against each other, you will build barricades instead of bridges between our people."_

_Her lips twitched into an aborted growl, but she backed down in the face of Mythal, whose love was unconditional for the Evanuris and the Elvhenan, and she spoke with genuine concern for them all. It helped that Sule'vi'in was a comforting presence behind her, and she controlled himself from the urge to attack Andruil for her audacity._

_"In fear, we see the monster in others, when we should learn to respond with love and kindness to return them to their better nature. So, instead of arguing, try to see it from each other's perspective. Let us speak of this later when our hearts are feeling lightened by the burdens that weigh them." There was no heat in her voice, yet the atmosphere was simmering with their tempers toward each other in the wake of Andruil's announcement._

_Shala moved to say something when Andruil was suddenly pushing her throne back and leaving the room with a furious tandem, her spirit advisor forgotten behind her. She felt sadness for the abandoned advisor, remembering Sule'vi'in's words that not always the purest of intentions lead to the best results, and questioned if Andruil was aware of the spirit's nature._

_She remained seated as one by one the Evanuris departed, her eyes casting judgment upon the ones who reacted favorably to Andruil's dreaded solution. Falon'Din's support did not come as a surprise, but Elgar'nan had been unexpected. To think that three of the Evanuris willing to put a slave system in their Elvhen Empire._

_She couldn't allow this to pass._

_"Solas, you seem anxious," Mythal commented, and she looked up, having not realized she had gotten so lost in her thoughts that she hadn't noticed their spirit advisors leave. Not it was just the two of them, and she didn't know what Mythal could be thinking._

_"You know my feelings on this," she sighed, looking at her friend without hiding her exhaustion of this. They had transcended to end the wars between the primordials and had kept the peace as the Evanuris to the elvhen for a millennium more... but how long could they deny their own nature? She feared that Andruil had finally been pushed over the edge and that the allowance on the slave system of their people would cause more war._

_And once they started, could they even be stopped?_

_Mythal studied her for a moment before replying, tapping her talon-like nails on the glass table. "When words and thoughts turn from anchors to controls; when leaders become tyrants; when kingdoms become prisons; the wise support with wisdom and the foolish become dictators."_

_She felt puzzled by the words._

_"You believe that in purpose there is pride; for you can guide the people to build something great out of what they love and be prideful of it." She raised her chin in accord._

_Mythal continued. "It is Andruil's belief in life that there is but one truth; what that truth is, only she can say, but love is only real when you believe that all are capable of it. Insanity can be sanity if she does right and keeps all of her intellect intact. In truth, it is the secret to open a door to a new scenario no one could have foreseen. It comes at a cost, though."_

_She clasped her hands to rest her chin upon them as she gazed upon her friend. Her mind whirled with thoughts and ideas and possibilities of what Mythal was saying._

_"Once this door is open, it cannot be closed, and we are trapped in eternity for the decisions we have made here. That's the way it is, that's the way it will always be, to believe in nothing is what we'll become. So I ask you, Solas, to believe in what our people need, to be a warrior for love and peace, and leave more doors for our people to chose from."_

_She nodded. "I understand."_

_Mythal smirked at her, an amused and almost sad thing, telling of something she knew but wouldn't divulge to her._

_"There will come a time when I will no longer be here; when the people of faith will need to prove to be stronger in love: stronger in their hearts. For nothing could be greater to them than a calling to heal the world, and you will be what the people need you to be."_

_She frowned and couldn't help but think those words as ominous. "Mythal-"_

_"Go now, Solas. Take a moment and unburden your heart. Listen to Sule'vi'in as you would, I." She nodded, knowing a dismissal when she heard one and took her leave._

* * *

Druela woke to dancing shadows. 

She blinked carefully, pulling her spirit from the land of dreams, and every thought in quiet reflection of the atmosphere. Though her eyes were open, she couldn't think of why; her heart was pounding, and her mind felt empty. Druela steadied her breathing, focusing on her surroundings as the candles' flickering lights tried to draw her attention. 

"You're awake," a soft Orlesian voice called her attention, and Druela moved to sit up when white-hot pain jolted through her, anchoring her to the floor in the next heartbeat. She scowled against the floor like it was at fault, suddenly awake and aware of every ache in her body. 

A soft hand pushed her back on her back, helping move the weight of her arm when she couldn't move her upper body without twisting the burning pain on her stomach. It wasn't hurting as bad now and was more of a dull ache she could ignore; she just couldn't forget it was there, or she'd only end up hurting herself. 

She breathed deeply and quietly, mentally assessing every limb and injury she could feel with minute twitches. A woman sat beside her now, where she came from Druela didn't know, but she was grateful she was here. Her eyes trailed up to the woman's face, following the color illuminated by the candles' light until she caught sight of soft auburn red. 

The sight of the red hue awoke forgotten memories of autumn's breath, the chaos of nature where leaves of green turned red and illuminated the forest with soul-bearing warmth when the sunlight touched the forest. From deep inside her chest, she felt the warm welcome her like an old friend, and it was strange because it was just a feeling, but it felt like so much more. 

She felt her muscles relax, the tension in her body almost gone, and as she met the eyes of this woman who reminded her of home - she saw the face of an old acquaintance. 

Druela knew that she should feel the terror of old grievances, anger at the woman who once held her puppet strings in the masquerade ball, and perhaps even hatred for the Nightingale who turned the chantry halls red with the blood of those who defied her. She should probably feel something more than what she did now. 

But what happened during the Inquisition felt like a lifetime ago, and as the memories of the dark future she came from reminded her of everything she had been through in rapid flashes, Druela could do nothing but feel at peace. 

It wasn't anything she was familiar with, and maybe she would feel those things she thinks she should with time, but right now, those blue eyes gave her full attention, and she couldn't help but feel lost beneath them. Her eyes were the blue of every dancing sky, infinite hues illuminated by candlelight, and it brought her back to the forests of her homeland. Where rivers sang as they trickled down the rocks in an endless dance, the way the fish swam silently beneath those cold waters, and how peaceful the forest seemed around it. 

It took a moment for Druela to realize Leliana had asked her a question and another heartbeat for her to find her voice. "What?" She croaked in apology, her throat achingly dry and raw. Leliana leaned back for a moment, and when she came back with a cup of some liquid, Druela tensed instinctively. 

It's just water, she reminded herself, but even as the woman helped bring her head up, she refused to sip. Leliana paused, the air around them suddenly stilling awkwardly until Druela gave her a reluctant look, trying to put to words the feelings she felt without insulting her. 

Instead, Leliana's lip upturned slightly in some aborted smile, and without faltering, she took a calm sip from the cup under Druela's careful eye. Without a word or even a note of teasing, Leliana turned the cup back to her, and this time when she pressed it to her lips, Druela drank from it. 

It was water, cleaner and fresher than anything she had tasted. Or that's what it felt like. She couldn't describe it, but even with her ability to tell if water was tainted, it still felt tasteless and hard. This was a gentle caress down her throat, lukewarm enough to chase the chilling cold from her body. 

"Thank you," she said when she had recovered her voice and then cleared her throat when she found it sounding _different_ than it did before. "I am in your debt," because she could feel the familiar burns that cauterized the injury that could've killed her. And if she had died, she would have lost the opportunity Solas had given her. 

Her voice sounded slightly different, like there was an added infliction to her words, an accent from a land she couldn't recognize: gently rolling and rising the common language she had spoken all her life into a captivating _foreign_ song that resonated from her very soul. 

Leliana smiled, and Druela forgot why it made her uncomfortable. To know something deep within her had been altered and not fear it. It was strange. When she was young, Leliana always made her feel nervous; like her dagger was pressed against her back no matter how far away Druela wandered. She was always there to remind her that there was no escape from the Inquisition. Not for her and not for anyone. 

"It's just water," Leliana said, putting the cup aside like her proclamation was said lightly. Druela leaned against her arm as she watched her, thinking of the words she needed to say. "It was not. You saved my life," she thought of how her own blade ended up being used against her and how she barely survived the archdemon's attack. She thought of how weak her body had been, how she had expanded so much energy the past week, and how she had barely had any food since then. 

If someone hadn't found her and taken mercy on her, Druela might not have woken and would have bled to death.

"I know how bad a state I was in. I expected to die, and yet you found a way to help me survive."

Leliana fidgeted. "You give yourself too little credit. You were still holding on, fighting even with a sword running through your body. I do not know how you found the strength to live when you must've been in agony."

Druela smiled, "I found something to live for."

"If you don't mind me asking, what happened?" Druela sighed, thinking of Thom and his lies. Of Solas and his surrender to the knife, she placed in his heart. To the archdemon that hijacked her friend's body to use against her. She wondered for a brief moment of doubt if Thom knew when he was being possessed and used his last strength to try and kill her - spare her from the archdemon and his betrayal? Or was it the archdemon who ran her through? So sudden and abrupt that Thom's last sight as her and knowing her doom before the archdemon had taken control. 

Druela closed her eyes. She didn't want to know the truth. 

"I'm sorry," she opened her eyes to find Leliana bowing her head apologetically. "I shouldn't have asked. It's just..."

Druela furrowed her brows, dark thoughts forgotten as she took in the woman's expression. Was it fear or uncertainty? Why did this woman have to be so good at concealing what she was feeling?

"What is it?"

Leliana shook her head, rising to her feet. "It's nothing. I should let you rest." She was turning to the stairs she hadn't noticed until now, and Druela knew she wouldn't be able to rest without an answer. 

It's not _nothing_. Druela hadn't survived the apocalypse to ignore a bad feeling. She clenched her jaw, exhaling sharply as she forced herself to sit up and fought the splatter of darkness that threatened to take her back unconscious. 

"Please," Druela rasped, holding herself upright by her one good hand. Leliana was back by her side in a heartbeat, but instead of trying to push her back down, she sighed and looked at her. The fear in her eyes shackled her like a knife was stuck in her gut and slowly twisted. 

"You're right; I'm sorry, you deserve to know. A storm appeared on the outskirts of the village two days ago, and everyone suspects a mage is responsible." The news seemed to haunt Leliana; she looked weighed down and exhausted, a glimpse behind her mask she had never seen before. 

Druela swallowed that information. "You think I'm responsible?" 

Leliana's eyes widened. "No! I do not know what happened, but the storm didn't hurt anyone. I only hesitated to tell you because the Templars are looking for anyone to pin the blame on. If they find you, I fear that they would kill you. In their eyes, as long as someone dies, even if they were not guilty: they no longer have to fear retaliation of an apostate."

That was considerate of her. Yet, Druela felt awful for endangering these people. She had created the storm and acted without thinking, barely streaming the consciousness to move, let alone think of how the world would react to her presence. There was nothing she could have done differently, yet this was a terrifying realization that she was no longer in a Blighted world where she could do anything as she pleased. 

Her actions had consequences, and now people were suffering for them. 

The guilt that sat on her chest was seeping into her thoughts, and Druela knew she had to fix this. She took in a quick breath, tensing as she prepared to move to her feet when hands were suddenly on her shoulders and holding her still. 

"You're still injured. You need to rest. The Templars won't find you; I've made sure of it," Leliana pushed gently on her shoulders, and after a shaky sigh, she let her body fall back down. Disheartened, she watched the woman rise again and move to the stairway. "I'll be back soon," she whispered and disappeared as she descended downstairs. 

Druela felt tears wet her eyes and didn't know why. Maybe it was everything hitting her all at once. The changes of her body to align Solas's spirit with her own, and while she was grateful she didn't have his consciousness stuck in her head, she couldn't stop the skin-deep feeling of being violated. To have parts of who she was altered and the memories colliding with her own. 

She didn't know she would feel as if she had been Solas. Druela scoffed at herself. He gave his soul to her, so of course, something had to have changed. It's just knowing that a spirit had not only touched her soul but gave itself for her - had seen everything - and she had changed in result gave her chills. Maybe it was harmless, but that didn't mean she had to like it. 

The changes were impossible to ignore now that she was looking for them. She could feel the depth of her mana reserves, but rather than having a well to draw from, she felt it coming from her entire body. Like her body had been destroyed from the inside and remade into a vessel of concentrated power. It was weird because it didn't even feel like _her_ magic anymore. It didn't feel like Solas's magic either - and nothing like the mark. 

She closed her eyes, feeling the magic within her as it resonated with an eerie familiarity. Maybe she was just feeling sentimental today, but now she couldn't help but feel like the magic came from nature. But rather than her forcing nature to obey her commands, it felt like _she was_ _nature._

Druela could've spent all day wondering what it meant. She wanted to. But right now, there was a village full of people fearful of an apostate and apostates no doubt fearing their discovery by nosy templars. All it took was one cleanse to reveal a mage, and if she had been out for two days since arriving, it was only a matter of time someone was discovered. 

There were already too many lives weighing her consciousness. She wouldn't tally another to the graveyard. 

Quickly, she unbuttoned the tunic Leliana had dressed her in, and while thankful for the soft clean fabric against her skin - desperately wondered if her clothing was nearby. Sure it wasn't pretty; dyed messily, stitched together by scraps and anything she could find, but that thing had saved her life several times over. 

She hissed against her teeth at the sight of her injury. It was fucking bad, and she would need days of rest even to stand up. Druela clenched her jaw as she hardened her resolve. 

It didn't matter that she hadn't used her new connection to magic before, but Druela learned best when facing time-constraints and high-risk scenarios anyway. She could hardly call herself a healer, and yet she had been forced to learn enough to survive the apocalypse. 

If she failed here, she'd have no excuse. 

"Let's see if you were fucking right for a change, Solas," she grunted as she pulsed magic into the wound, diagnosing her sorry state. She grimaced at what she found. No bones were touched when the blade slid through her, and fortunately, she didn't have any internal bleeding, but she was startling low on blood. And worse... she had an infection on the exit wound. 

It was easy enough to overlook when cauterizing wounds, but if left untreated... well, it's a good thing she had her magic. Foreign though it was. 

She hoped it didn't turn her into a tree. Could that happen? Did circle mages know, or were they just as clueless?

It didn't matter, she supposed nervously. She was a shit healer, anyway. She wasn't trained; she doesn't know how to heal kindly - she only knows how to get the result. It left her healing methods unorthodox and cruel. She didn't have a choice but to self-teach herself based on what she knew worked and had seen. 

Normally, she had friends around her to hold her and comfort her improper healing methods, but today she was alone. Now she had to do this alone. Wedging the tunic between her teeth, she rolled to her side and pressed her hand against the heavily burnt tissue of her back.

"You can do this," she muttered under her breath, fighting the fear that was itching up her spine. She steadied her hand when it began to shake and ironed her focus to her will. 

Druela called her magic to her hand and felt the warmth brush against her fingertips. Gentle in a warning for what came next. Breathe in. Breathe out. 

She pressed her hand into the wound. 

The magic jumped from her hand and caught flame to her skin like molten lava. She cried out, teeth sinking into the balled-up fabric with ferocity as she willed the golden fire to seep into the burnt tissue and _eat away the infected flesh._

Her entire body trembled, and it took all her strength to keep her limbs from jerking away. It took everything she had to keep going, like the fucking masochist she was, forcing the magical fire to cleanse her blood of the sickness. She screamed as her head exploded into blinding whiteness and almost wished she would black-out, just to escape the pain that was gradually getting worse and worse.

She couldn't stop the tears from sliding down the side of her face and wetting her hair and ears uncomfortably with it. Druela felt acid in the back of her thought as she focused on shaping her magic to needles and thread, mimicking the motions as it regrew and knitted new skin together. 

It was a horrible feeling, the way the magic seemed to pull on her skin to mend it and regrow tissue in seconds. She tried not to think about how many times she's done this before, and each time she seems to react worse rather than better. She tried not to think about it and prayed for the moment the fire stopped burning - the moment her magic deemed her body healed. 

When it was over, she sucked in a greedy breath and tasted the salt of her tears. She shuddered as she gasped for breath like she had been drowning instead of healing. Never again would she ever take a healer for granted. 

Druela looked over her shoulder, uncomfortable as she tried to twist her torso to see her back, and popped her spine a few times before she could. After all of that, it looked much better. Like it had years of healing, and only with expensive creams and salves, nobles would use to keep their skin clear of blemish. 

The burnt tissue was gone, and so was the heavy and raised scarring it would've turned into had it months to heal without magic. Instead, it was like the injury was pressed into her skin, and while the scar remained, it was smooth and white rather than raw pink. 

Before, she would be exhausted at this point and need some time to recover her mana. Now she didn't have that concern _\- and she hated it._ Even if it was for the best because she had no time to lose... it fucking sucked. 

Druela rolled onto her back, getting a good look at the entry wound that was bigger and longer than the exit wound had been. While she didn't have an infection festering on this one... it would be a different kind of pain. She whined low in her throat and felt her hands chill from the dreaded cold she was about to inflict on herself. 

Her healing was based on memories of how her wounds had been treated. The memories attached to them made them stronger and were fueled with layers of emotion that sustained a spell that only had intent for the result and not the means to make it so.

The last time she had been injured like this, she had crawled out of haven with an arrow in her gut from a red templar who got lucky. It didn't matter how the mages healed her when she finally made it to camp _because she was unconscious._ All her memories told her she was cold and dying as she journeyed through a snowstorm up a mountain, and when she woke, she was healed. 

It was a good thing she was in the past because if someone mentioned _it's a miracle you survived Haven_ to her face again, she'd probably set them on fire. 

Druela shuddered as the cold whispered against her skin and pushed her hand onto it before she could back out. She gasped as it thieved the heat from her body, draining her of energy as her limbs became stiff and her blood turned icy. She shuddered for breath, now visible against her lips, and felt her skin roughen with goosebumps. 

Where the fire was agony, the cold was borderline uncomfortable and compromised everything in its path. Even as she willed the magic to heal, Druela felt like she was reliving that night over from when her feet were submerged in the snow that was just as icy as the lake. The weight of the storm's wind pressed against her body and threatened to hold her under. Her muscles were giving up, her mental commands failing to make her body move, and as she began to lose feeling in all but the painful awareness of what she was doing to herself - it was over. 

The heat that had been taken was returned, and the cold was chased away as if it had never come. It wasn't fair, she decided, how her magic didn't need time to recover like it once did. Her body was healed, and her magic was fine, but she felt disconnected from it somehow. Like she needed to sleep for her mind and nothing else. 

Wasn't that a silly thought?

This time when Druela moved to stand, she wasn't met with resistance, and she grinned with triumph at her success. The room was smaller than she initially expected, and there were fewer candles as well. Even as an elf, she was relatively sure she shouldn't be able to see this well in the dark. It was another thing to add to her _list of strange things happening to her._ Fucking time-travel, Evanuris, and magic. 

If nothing else, she was able to find her clothes rather easily from where they were tucked into the corner, folded better than they deserved. They were still filthy by the sharp smell, but Druela was pleased they weren't thrown away. Her undershirt was gone, though, and she had a suspicion that between the blood and the tear, it really wasn't salvageable by anyone's standard. 

She shrugged, pulling the leathers and furs over her torso, rolling her shoulders to accumulate to the added weight, and sighed happily of the feeling of armor back on her skin. Normally she hated being undressed when she was knocked out and treated because her time with the Inquisition taught her that they always dressed her in these hideous human garbs. They made her look like a jester, but it seemed Leliana had enough sense only to remove what was necessary for her treatment. 

Remembering where she was, Druela quickened her pace for getting lost in thought and scouted the area. It looked like she was in an attic of sorts with no windows or light source aside from what the candles provided. It was a clever place to hide her. As she trudged down the stairs, she recognized the structure as a windmill. 

Her nose itched as she breathed, and she muffled her sneeze that followed from all that dust. If she was being treated out of the town, the templars must've really been hellbent on finding any outsider to pin the blame on, and when they didn't find one, they would soon turn on themselves. Druela wondered if that's why Leliana left when she did. 

When she stepped outside the door, she was momentarily stunned by the landscape she hadn't seen since she was a child. Druela was surprised she was still in Lothering since time displacement had a habit of sending her places she didn't want to go. She hadn't appreciated what it would mean to see the world back as it was, though. 

The plains of Lothering were breath-taking, and the sunrise was clear in the cool morning sky. Wheatfields swayed in the currents of the wind, birds chirped, and dogs barked. The Imperial Highway looked brighter somehow, and it was less ruined than she remembered it being, and the land was happily untouched by the Blight. 

It was like she was standing within a dream, and Druela had to pinch herself to snap herself out of her awe. She knelt and studied the tracks in the dirt trail that led to the windmill. There was only one set, and as she leaned down to study the print, the sweet scent of flowers triggered her brain to recall it as the same scent of Leliana. 

She rose, sniffing the air current, and found the smell of flowers coming strongest to the left where the town rested. She diligently followed it, watching the tracks for reassurance since tracking people by scent was a new thing and keeping out of sight to anyone with the eyesight to spot her this far away. Druela was maybe halfway to the town when she heard shouting and the familiar but disconcerting sound of heavy templar plates clanking together. Sprinting for the nearest tree, she leaped for the lowest branch and began to scale up the tree until the leaves camouflaged her form well. As she tucked her belly into the thickest branch, she crawled forward to peek out from the leaves to see what the commotion was all about. 

The scent of ozone was in the air, she realized with a deep breath, and dread filled her heart at what it meant. A mage just exposed themselves. She swallowed, observing the town with her weird hawk-like vision, and found what sounded like templars breaking down doors. So they didn't know who it was, but they knew it was someone inside the village. Likely suspecting someone, they walked every day. Druela spotted movement coming out of the village, but as she turned her gaze in that direction, she found nothing standing out. 

She sniffed the air again, but the wind wasn't in her favor. Her ears flickered to the side, and she instinctively turned her head. She was startled to find two people running for the windmill. Druela groaned into the tree branch, having a pretty good idea that was Leliana, and she would need to head back to do damage control. She studied the area carefully, ideas racing through her head as she considered scenario after scenario on the best way she could handle this madness. 

As she shimmied down the tree, Druela carefully fade-stepped three times before she made it back to the windmill and barely gave herself enough time to catch her breath before opening the door. She realized her mistake instantly. 

As a shadow pounced with a dagger raised with deadly-intent, Druela ducked low and slapped her hand on the ground as she twirled her body in a spin, her legs just barely grazing the woman's robes as she backflipped away from her. "Stop!" She exclaimed, her heart roaring in her ears as her battle instincts all but screamed at her to attack. She was tense as she held herself back and forced herself to put her hands up in the universal surrender. 

"Oh, _Maker,_ it's you," Leliana sighed and tucked the dagger away in a blur of fabric. Then she snapped her head up to glower at Druela, looking cross. "I thought I told you to _rest!"_

Druela shrugged and gave her a sheepish grin. Leliana's nostrils flared as she sighed and turned to the third person in the room. She tilted her head to the side as she drank in the features of the woman in front of her, finding her family and yet certain they were strangers. 

"Maker, Leliana, what am I going to _do?"_ The raven-haired woman crumbled in front of them, something falling from her hands as she slid down the wall. Leliana rushed to comfort the girl when suddenly a chill went through the room. Druela barely moved in time to shove Leliana back as ice suddenly manifested in the room and spiked up where the redhead was standing moments before. 

The sight of Druela seemed to have tipped her over the edge as her noble features grew tense and her breathing rapid but shallow. Her aura wrapped around her with a ferocity she felt in the air, and as she once again smelled ozone in the air, Druela knew she had to do something before this woman lost whatever control she had left!

She couldn't think of anything to do. She had never seen an attack like this before, and she knew that anyone else who saw a mage lose control of themselves like this became tranquil at worse and executed at best. Yet, she felt a connection to this woman in a way she didn't think she understood, but her _heart_ recognized. 

Druela stopped thinking and closed her eyes. A hmm was growing in the back of her throat, like the rumble of a growl, and as she stepped forward, she felt no fear in her heart. Goosebumps raised as electric shocks stung her lightly, and as a cold wind stuck to her, she felt nothing but peace in her heart. 

And suddenly, _she remembered._

The next words that came from her were not spoken; they were _sung._ A voice awoke from the depths of her soul, voicing words she did not know but flowing with emotions and interlocking melodies. It was like she had opened a door to her heart and poured all of her strongest emotions into words.

_Ga haur te'lea_

_Es'an ehn shia ga te'laim_   
  
  


She felt the storm around her drawback, the electrical charges in the air retreating, and as a gasp met her ears, she opened her eyes. 

It was like that night in Elvhenan when The People were mourning for Ghilan'nain, but instead of the lights dancing in the sky, they were prancing in the room. And instead of all the colors of a rainbow, it was two, but they were perhaps the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. 

_Shan ea soun tel'banafelasa_

_Bre'gen'adahl ea tel'dera i'eireth_

Emerald light wove around the room quickly and joyously, like a playful wisp as it met the sapphire blue with an eagerness Druela was almost embarrassed by. The colors faded into each other, swaying and changing and illuminating the room with their magic. Their glow, their shine, and everything about them were beautiful. 

It was their auras, she realized, and as she reached out to touch them, she felt _everything._ Magic, she realized, was the power of their spirit, and mages now had many natures, layers of emotions. Her aura was a manifestation of her spirit, and as much as she could feel this woman's soul, she knew her own was being seen as well. 

And yet, all she felt was love and acceptance. 

_Ise juthen o genise_

_U'lea o bane jushen_

As the last note rang out in the room, she watched as their auras pulsed once before their colors faded until all that was left was the warm amber of the candlelights. Druela did not dwell on the stunned faces of the women around her as she kneeled before the raven-haired girl with gentleness in her heart she could not understand. 

" _An'eth'ara da'lath'in,_ you do not need to be afraid. I will keep you safe," she promised, soothing the young woman who had tears streaming down her cheeks like rivers from her soul. 

The human glanced away from her eyes for a moment, then focused back on her, and she smiled at catching the woman looking at her ears. "Who are you?" She asked, but there was an intensity in her eyes that almost overwhelmed her. 

"I am Druela," she nodded slightly, eyes never leaving the woman's as she did. "Bethany. I'm Bethany Hawke. You're a dalish elf?" She asked with a tone of disbelief, and Druela couldn't help but chuckle slightly. Hawke, of course. She knew she recognized that nose. "I was raised as one, yes," she said, providing a half-truth, and one she was sure Leliana caught if her shifting was anything to go by. 

"I hear you are in a bit of trouble?" She asked gently, observing the girl for any sign she was pushing too far. Fortunately, the woman appeared to be completely relaxed and didn't even blink at the question. Instead, she sighed and reached for the abandoned staff on the ground. 

"My family has been sheltering me from the templars. Everyone has been agitated, and I-I just lost control for a moment. Magic always seems to rule over my heart," she mumbled. 

Druela cocked her head to the side, wondering. A spark lit up Bethany's eyes as she looked back up, meeting her eyes with a powerful realization that had her drawing breath. "Until now. What I felt- it was incredible. It felt like magic came within me, but it wasn't destruction or even power. It was-"

"Emotion," Leliana spoke up, a quiver in her voice as she crossed trembling arms in front of her chest. Druela realized then she had no idea what their auras must've felt like to a non-mage. 

"Magic is a manifestation of emotion. When we draw from the Fade, we can give it purpose and mold it into a weapon or defense," Druela told them, pretty sure this is what her memories were telling her. "I sensed that you were afraid; of your magic and yourself, so I resonated your aura with mine."

"So that's why you sing?" Leliana questioned, but there was more to it than that. Druela nodded. "Singing helps channel emotions and," her ears flicked as she flushed with embarrassment. "I kind of just did it on a whim. I didn't know what else to do," she apologized, lowering her lids at the feeling of uselessness. 

Bethany surprised her by pulling into a hug. "I'm glad you did," she laughed breathlessly, and Druela's breath stuttered as she was close enough to feel Bethany's heartbeat in tandem with hers. 

"If the chantry knew this, they would know that fearing magic only makes things harder for mages," Leliana muttered, glaring at the wall with a look of contemplation. Druela smiled at the sight as she pulled away from the embrace. 

Her smile faltered at what she felt she had to confess next. "I also feel responsible for putting you in this position, Bethany. The storm was my fault, and I will not let anyone suffer for my actions." Bethany's eyes widened with a look of horror, but to her surprise, there was no contempt. 

"You were _almost dead_ when I found you, Druela. How could you?" Leliana asked, and she shivered at the sound of her accent curling around the vowels of her name. 

"I needed to protect someone very dear to me, _and_ that was enough for me to draw strength," she replied with another half-truth. She couldn't exactly say _an elvhen god of my people gave me his soul_.

"But the Templars must've realized I'm missing now." Tears welled in her ears with deep sorrow for her situation, but it only encouraged Druela to strengthen her resolve. "I made you a promise, Bethany. I will protect you from the Templars, and I'll make sure you can return your family. I have a plan, and _when_ it works, no one will suspect you as a mage."

"Druela, I don't even know how you're moving, but you almost died a few days ago. By gaining the Templars attention, you'll be risking your life," Leliana cautioned, her eyes shadowed with worry. 

Druela helped Bethany rise to her feet as she considered how to reply to her concern. 

"I'm a Dalish elf, and a mage, Leliana; Templars have hunted me since the day I was brought into this world." She took in the sadness in those expressionate blue eyes and smirked, "I might as well give them a real reason to hate me."

Bethany fretted over her. As she did, Druela suddenly realized what was so strange about this. She could smack herself for not clueing the two together, but her memories of Elvhenan had taken all her attention, and so, she hadn't noticed the difference until she was standing with Bethany at arm's length of her. 

And realized _she was taller than a human._

Her eye twitched. Of course, Solas would give her his height. That doesn't make her stand out _at all._ Well, there were worse things than being tall, she supposed. Besides, she decided as she had an epiphany. This would make her plan even better!

The Templars didn't know what hit them!

* * *

"You would get along with my sister."

Druela looked over her shoulder as she was strapping various knives Leliana kindly provided to her armor. "Oh?" She asked, thinking of the Warden she sacrificed so Hawke would live. It was the only thing Hawke reminded her of now and something the older woman had immediately picked up on. Hawke had given her more distance than she deserved. 

"Yeah," Bethany sighed with fond exasperation for her older sister. Then huffed, "you're both crazy!"

A bark of laughter exploded from her mouth, and she grinned widely at the compliment. Bethany rolled her eyes, "even you take it as a compliment!"

"You'll take care of yourself, though, won't you?" The sudden turn of the conversation left Druela reeling. She took a moment to take in the words and the worry in Bethany's eyes that implied more than what she said. Her ear flicked as she tilted her head in question, and Bethany's eyes closed as she visibly pulled herself together. "My sister is always looking after the rest of us. She sometimes forgets to eat and sleep or shower!" Her nose crinkled in disgust. Druela giggled at the sight of the scowl. Bethany laughed with her then. After a moment, Druela offered her forearm to Bethany, and when the girl went to shake her hand, she darted forward and instead gripped her forearm firmly. 

"I will take care of myself, Bethany, I promise. I will not undo the kindness that has been shown to me by sister-"

"You can just call me Leliana. I am only a lay sister of the chantry," Druela didn't jump at Leliana's sudden manifestation out of the shadows, but it was a very near thing. And she wouldn't forget that spark of mischievousness in her eyes either. "Leliana, then," she spoke with that melodic accent she couldn't seem to break. The lay sister had a familiar blade in her hands, and she watched as she took great care to lean the blade against the wall. Bethany's eyes bugged at the sight of the blade, and Druela wondered if she was thinking of its worth. 

"It is ironic," Druela said, unable to help herself. She had shared her aura with these women, and there was not a lot more personal than _that._ Leliana turned to face her, but she kept her eyes on the obsidian blade, watching as Bethany caressed the amethyst jewels of her once most-cherished possession. "The blade is called Sule'vi'in. It means inevitable."

Druela wished she hadn't noticed the sadness in Leliana's eyes or the stilling of Bethany's fingers. "It was run through me by my _lethal'lin._ I trusted him with my life, and he tried to kill me with my own blade," she frowned as her chest tightened. She will not cry. Not for Thom. 

"It is an elvhen blade, and yet, I can not bring myself to return this to my clansmen. We have seen enough bloodshed," she decided and gestured toward the blade. "I have caused you trouble, and you have only shown me kindness. In return for your generosity, I give you my blade. May it serve you well, no matter what you choose to do with it."

"Druela," Bethany paused, a look of uncertainty. She smiled at the girl. "Do not worry. I promised you I would take care of myself, didn't I?" At her nod, she continued. "Have faith, okay? I will be alright. The plan will work."

"Speaking of, it's time we head out there," Leliana announced, and despite the dread in Bethany's eyes, Druela couldn't help but feel a thrill from the rush of adrenaline and the threat of danger. "Druela, are you ready?" She nodded. 

"Wait!" They spun around at Bethany's shout, and for a moment, Druela went crosseyed at the object that was thrust at her. It was a staff. Bethany's staff. "Take it. It was my father's."

Druela moved to push it back, unable to take such a sentimental item from her. But Bethany wouldn't budge. "I mean it, take it. I'd trust no one else with it." She smiled teasingly, "besides, you've shown me I don't need a staff to control my magic."

She waited a couple of heartbeats more, but when the resolve remained firm in Bethany's stance, she wrapped her hand around it and caressed the smooth sylvan wood. Leliana didn't give them a second more and ushered them out of the door in the next minute, and all but shepherded them behind the windmill, closest to the Imperial Bridge as they dared without completely exposing themselves. 

Her ears flickered as she heard a man shout and realized she had minutes to act now. Druela closed her eyes, hardening her resolve, and quickly wrapped her face in the borrowed scarf. She then threw up her hood as an added measure, hiding every sign that she was a Dalish Elf. 

"I want you to know, no matter what happens, no matter what you _see,_ I wouldn't hurt either of you." She said, not giving them a second's notice to guess what she could mean. She channeled her magic into the staff, feeling it condense her mana into a more powerful version before she threw the spell at Leliana with no warning. The lay sister instinctively tried to dodge the missile attack, and her body somewhat tucked in when the spell hit her. 

It put her in the perfect position for the show she was about to put on. Leliana was paralyzed in the force field, stuck in a hunched over form on the grass with no one the wiser to what she had really been doing, and as she turned to Bethany and saw the trust war with fear in her eyes, she mouthed the words, "be afraid," to her. 

In the next moment, Druela held Bethany aloft in the air where not even her feet touched the ground as she levitated her. She restrained every movement in her body except her head, allowing the Hawke to belt out a shrilling scream that echoed across the plains. 

She could hear the Templars coming now, their armor making a ruckus as they came, and Druela raised the staff to the sky for the next phase of the plan. 

The Templars had likely connected that the mage they were looking for preferred lightning, and while that was Druela's absolute worse area of expertise, she _had_ technically made a storm to arrive here. While she wasn't crazy enough to time-travel again, especially for such a minor thing, she _could_ theoretically apply the same knowledge of using the fade to make veil-lightning the same way it did fire. It wouldn't hurt - literally - to try and had an aesthetic look the Templars were looking for. 

Leaving them no reason to so much as suspect Bethany as anything more but a beautiful damsel the dangerous apostate had chosen to use her malicious rituals on. 

"Please! Don't hurt me!" Bethany cried out, her head shaking back and forth as she tried to move her force-constrained body. Druela didn't need to glance to know the Templars had arrived. "Quite your shrilling, or I will cut out your tongue!" She snarled, making a show of elaborately twirling her staff (that served absolutely no reason), and jabbed the staff forward to spread her arms a little wider, giving her the ultimate defenseless look followed my luminescent green lightning. 

She might just have this little villain act in the bag. 

"Apostate! Let the women go, or we won't hesitate to kill you!" Druela clicked her tongue. She hadn't missed the Templar Order. 

"Begone, Templars, you have no power here."

"Please, help me!" Bethany begged, and if Druela hadn't gotten to know the woman a bit, she probably would've believed that spiel. But Bethany was not the type to beg for help; she would hold her own with all the Hawke composure until she found a way out. 

"Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just-" to make a point, she reached out and held one templar aloft in the air, hating that verse with every fiber of her being. But the group didn't falter at the attack on one of their own and simply stomped on the ground as one unit, thrusting one hand forward as a blast of white energy was flung at her. 

Druela waited until the very last moment before fade stepping away, grabbing Bethany just before the holy smite could hit her, and _stepped_ again, so she was just outside the stairway to the bridge. She released the spell on Bethany and let the girl fall to the ground, her body stiff despite the spell's release. 

She tossed the staff to the ground and gently turned Bethany unto her back with her foot. Two Templars had stayed behind with Leliana, but she was hardly far enough for them not to see the show she was about to put on. She didn't know if they would forgive her after learning what she had become, the people did not have Varric's books to make exceptions for blood mages, and the stigma against Maleficarum was the worst of the worst. Even traitors did not suffer a Maleficarum's death. 

But this was the last phase she needed to complete to have the Templars convinced. The moment the Templars were within range of casting another Holy Smite, Druela revealed the knife in her hand to all and raised it with a dramatic flourish. She gave the Templars half a second to scramble for their lyrium before she plunged the knife violently down. 

Bethany let out a startled scream. 

Blood splattered on her clothing, and everything was silent as everyone took in what Druela had done. She grit her teeth at the knife hit deep in her abdomen before yanking it out, her blood quickly drenching her leathers in its coating. 

"Maleficarum!" 

"Blood mage!"

Her aura didn't change, but Druela didn't waste time questioning what that could mean. She swung her arm violently to the side as a wave of blood all but slammed the group of Templars to the ground. It was harmless, but she made her point across. 

She spared a glance at Bethany, whose eyes were widened with horror, and she flinched for real when Druela opened her mouth to say _anything_ that might mean something more than what she had done. But the words couldn't leave her throat, and she swallowed them down with acceptance and sorrow. 

Druela couldn't stop being something she was. No matter how many good people were hurt by her use of it. It was apart of who she was - and it was bloody _useful!_

She wishes she knew the spell to put people to sleep. Anything would be better than feeling Bethany's eyes on her back as she put the knife away and picked up the staff she probably regretted giving her now. She squeezed the tears from her eyes in one furious blink and then stepped forward. 

When she started running, she never stopped, and she never _ever_ looked back. 

* * *

Her dreams began in a bloodbath that night. 

_Druela reached Orlais as fast as she could and committed a serious crime of horse theft to reach the capital city in a matter of hours instead of days from the Western Approach she had heard the news. It was like Kirkwall, a place of so much death had made the Veil thin, and demons all but prowled the borders as they waited for a way inside. When the Veil was taken down, magic wasn't the only thing released into the world._

_The streets of Orlais were abandoned when she arrived, and it was too quiet as she walked through the town, stepping through doorways for any sign of life. Maybe they were just hiding. She tried to tell herself. Maybe they had a secret escape path like Haven did. Her heart was heavy in her chest, and she couldn't believe a word of what she was saying, but the idea that Orlais was just gone was too much._

_The burning of the alienage had murdered three thousand elves, and they were just a small fraction of Orlais. Even under Divine Victoria's rule, where the chantry ran run with blood, she had hardly killed a hundred, and the faith in the Maker and Andraste was stronger than ever because of the Inquisition. There should be people here. Even revered mothers tended to stay behind and face their death when it meant praying for the few souls who might survive this attack._

_If anyone had a clue about what had happened here, it was Divine Victoria, and suddenly Druela knew what she had to go. She had only been to the building once, and that was several years ago now, but if life has taught her anything, it was to remember the location of such places. Her heart was racing in her chest, and her eyes were jumping at every shadow,_

_Orlais was a place of death for the elves, and Druela really didn't want to be here. But as she found the grand doors of Divine Victoria's domain, she knew she wouldn't have been able to leave things alone. There were too many memories connected to Orlais. Back when Divine Victoria had been Sister Leliana and Nightingale, spymaster, assassin, and bard._

_She had hated to leave Josephine here. The one person among her advisors she could call a friend, but Leliana had made her intentions toward her clear, and Druela had disappeared hunt down Solas as much to be free of Divine Victoria's reach._

_Druela hoped more than anything that Josephine was in Antiva right now. That she was using her past bard training to fight for her life, and if she wasn't... Druela hoped her death was a painless one. The inside of the Andrastian-devoted building was grander than any chantry she had seen before and likely more expensive than Antiva._

_But in the silence and emptiness that mirrored the rest of Orlais, this place looked haunted. She felt like hundreds of eyes were watching her. Her skin crawled with the sensation, and she gripped her staff tighter in her hand until her knuckles turned white._

_As she neared the end of the hall, she began to hear a voice, but it was quiet. She could only hear it because there was nothing else, and there was something off about all of this that kept her from calling out. She tried to soften her footsteps, but it was as if the floor was designed to make the loudest sounds possible, and when the hunched figure became visible in front of her, she decided it didn't matter._

_Druela didn't dare use magic until she had confirmed the threat. Even with the veil down and the world thrown into chaos, using aggressive force against Divine Victoria was a death sentence in the most painful fashion._

_"Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just," she heard in that familiar lilt. Hope rose in her heart that Leliana would have answers for her. Perhaps she had stayed behind just like the revered mothers once did? For all the was known to bloody the chantry, she had been sentimental, in her own (terrifying) way._

_"Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow." Druela walked closer, coming up on her side so the Divine would not only hear but see her coming. She squinted her eyes as she spotted something hanging from her clasped hands in prayer._

_"In their blood, the Maker's will is written."_

_Druela remembered the last time she heard that verse. It was all those years ago when everything first began, and she was but a child as she came across the woman's prayers. And she remembered how she stopped and asked if their blood is what the Maker wanted all along - if their deaths were his will?_

_Fearing those words, Druela spoke then. "Divine Victoria?"_

_Leliana suddenly gasped, raising her head as she straightened and brought her clasped hands closer to her chest, and her shadow cast her form in a magnified size as she neared. Druela stepped closer, hand outstretched as though to touch her when Leliana's head snapped back, and she heard the bone snap!_

_Her face was as gaunt and lifeless as she was a ghoul in the alternate future, but where even the ghoul had life in her eyes, this one did not. Her eyes were hazy and unfocused, the blue now grey as the pupil was expanded and leaking black liquid down her irises. Black veins were visible in her eyes like spiderweb fractures, and her porcelain skin was as pale as death._

_"No," Druela whispered and leaped back as far away and as fast as she could as her body bent and seized in unnatural angles like a larger force was hiding within her human body. She heard the sound of tearing and felt acid in her throat when she realized it was skin, and in the next breath, there was blood splattered everywhere._

_The captivating voice of Divine Victoria had been replaced with a monstrous shrill that echoes through the sacred halls. It was as though what had remained of Leliana in her final moments were her screams, and like she had said all those years before, she was delivering the blood the Maker really sought._

_Druela threw out two gravitational pulls, the green orbs pulsing with power as they tried to lure the creature in, but it was too strong, and she wasted a quarter of her mana for nothing!_

_"Su an'banal ima!" She screamed right back at the creature, dodging behind a pillar just as the monster's claws scraped by her, hands as big as a dragon's paw and its body easily the size of one too. But that's where the similarities ended; she decided as the monster jumped ahead of her and turned its eyes on her. The closest thing to compare Leliana to now was the werewolf sketches she had seen. Just larger, harrier, and skeletal._

_The only thing left of the woman this monster had been was the color of her hair. Red as the blood that painted this building. Red as the sky had become. Red as the blood that poured from her wound as its claws slashed into her. Druela ducked behind another pillar as the building began to crumble at the sheer force of the monster's attacks._

_When she made a desperate run for the doors, she barely had a moment of victory when she forced those doors open before she saw the streets of Orlais weren't empty anymore. Hundreds of thousands of monsters flooded the streets, and all of them were walking in her direction, stupidly slow but undeniable terrifying in number. They were humanoid in shape, but that was the only thing that could be compared to what they had once been._

_It was unimaginable to think that every Orlesian had become this? What had Solas unleashed into the world? What could be worse than demons?_

_The scream of the Divine behind her was her only warning before the doors were broken down, and she quickly decided to call that monster something else. Anything that separated that creature from the woman she remembered. Druela barely got out of the way in time, and she leaped forward without thinking, falling from the walkway unto the roof of the nearest building. Calling it a Divine was a cruel irony she couldn't love with, and Victoria had the one to bring blood to these halls in the first place. So, Vic, it was._

_It was right on her tail, and while the creatures below were too slow to keep up, if she fell... Druela gulped at the thought and forced her legs to move faster!_

_Heart pounding as she felt an acute fear for her life she had never felt before, Druela cast mine over mine on the ground as she moved and heard the roaring cry of the Vic behind her. If anything, her ice mines only seemed to piss it off somehow, if dead things could even feel such things, and Druela was quickly running out of ideas._

_She had been trained as a close-quarters combatant. Both with a blade and in magic. She had companions who could do everything else, and while she had been traveling alone for years, she had been staying out of battles with monsters like this and only getting in skirmishes that left no way out. She never thought the past would catch up to haunt her like this._

_Would Druela die here because she hadn't honed her skills for war? Druela noticed an incline in the roof in front of her and the split between the next building. She would have to jump to make it. It was something she had never done before but damn if it didn't inspire her to think of something!_

_Druela spun around and braved past her fear of the Vic raising its talons to bring down on her as she slammed her staff on the roof and creating a thin layer of slippery ice. Then, she attempted a summersault to get away from the creature, feeling her cloak shred at her back but ultimately unscathed as she leaped._

_A roar suddenly pierced the skies, but this time it didn't come from the Vic. Instead, the monster that had indeed slipped on her ice and slammed its entire body against the side of the building as it began its descent. But it had caused a problem she hadn't anticipated, and as the roof began to fracture while the building tipped, Druela knew she screwed up._

_She stumbled forward, trying to gain momentum in time to jump to the next roof, but even as she made the jump, she felt betrayed as the floor beneath her collapsed, and the next thing she knew, she was falling._

_Falling into the flood of ghouls where she would meet the cruelest of ends._

_Druela closed her eyes._

_Then felt her innards jump as she was caught mid-air. She opened her eyes to find talons of a different kind wrapped painlessly around her body. She looked up and saw her eyes had not deceived her and a dragon was carrying her._

_She had remembered Varric's story of Hawke's family and Aveline being carried out of Fereldan by a Dragon, but she hadn't truly believed its truth. It was not until then when Mythal saved her life and left her with greater debt than she could forgive._

_Saved from the Divine; asked to kill the Archdemon._

Suddenly the claws around her disappeared, and with it, the dream. But Druela was still in the face; her dream had only been dismissed by the spirits playing the roles her memories provided. She sighed, moving her hand to rub her neck when she stilled as she realized it wasn't her hand that was in front of her. 

It was a paw. 

Druela spun around, trying to look behind her when the barest tip of a furred tail could be found, and stared at it in disbelief. Solas didn't say she would turn into a wolf! 

Fucking wolf! She snarled, staring at the red fur that, _at the very least,_ distinguished her from Solas. 

"Like a raven, no one ever questions when a swooping dragon appears in the air, neither expected nor unexpected, a Blighted world is, after all, the place for them. The red sky, I'll admit, was unexpected, but even I can not foresee everything."

Druela spun around, fur bristling as she faced the intruder of her dreams, only to find... Mythal? She was hiding her horns and armor beneath the skin of an older woman with frayed clothing. It was a nice cover, and one Morrigan seldomly spoke of to her after they learned the truth of Flemeth together. 

Whatever expression she was making (do wolves even have facial expressions?) Mythal laughed at her, shoulders shaking with mirth Druela could only feel baffled by. The Elvhen woman from Solas's memories was unrecognizable to this mad woman before her, and yet, Druela was convinced they were the same, and she had more dealings with this woman than she was comfortable with. 

"You have questions, but now is not the time for them," Druela growled only to snuff when Mythal silenced her with a chuckle, amused by her instead of threatened. 

She can't say she missed the woman who spoke in riddles. Solas did the same thing. 

But she couldn't deny that if Mythal was good for something, it was guided her in a direction she didn't know existed before, and that was something she needed now more than ever. She had done the impossible: traveling back in time. That was never the hard part, though. 

The hard part was knowing where to begin and when to stop. So when Mythal turned her golden eyes onto her with an intensity that she had only seen in her memories, Druela listened. 

"Come find me in the Kocari Wilds, Fen'vir. It's time you learn of new things upon the horizon." 


End file.
